


The Taming 3, Version B, Ending A

by chains_archivist



Series: The Taming Trilogy by Skazitelnitsky, PB Wrapper and Karmen Ghia [4]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Boys in Chains, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 101,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Skazitelnitsky, PB Wrapper and Karmen Ghia<br/>Third part of the Taming trilogy, Version B, Ending A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

"Chekov, are you all right?"

"I thought I saw..." The lieutenant stared at the street vendor's cart where only an old woman stood now. "... someone I knew. "

Sulu was too polite to express his disbelief more strongly than in the soft dubious laugh he gave before taking his helmpartner's arm and guiding him forward.

It did seem highly unlikely that the navigator would run into an acquaintance on Gandrine 3. It was a planet on the edges of territory claimed by both the Federation forces and the Klingons. Gandrine played the coquette allowing herself to be wooed by Federation and Empire without pledging herself to either. Chekov reassessed looking at the street scene. More likely Gandrine was playing the whore, jumping into bed with whoever had the most valuables at the moment. All in all Gandrine wasn't the sort of place that people you'd like to know lived and did business. Then again, the person Chekov thought he saw was not someone he was pleased to have known.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sulu repeated after a moment. "You look pale."

Perfectly natural after seeing a ghost, Chekov thought. What he said aloud was, "It's very hot. Could we get a drink?"

"Let me check the list. "The helmsman broke out a small device that looked like a tricorder. "What's on the menu today?"

For security reasons, personnel on leave were required to travel in pairs during the day and groups of at least five at night. As a further precaution, they were given a list of establishments to patronize. The selection rotated each day so no one business would get the reputation of being a Star Fleet hangout. Since this arrangement tended to make on-leave personnel to travel in packs, it also created a false impression for the locals of how many of them there were. Which was what the Enterprise was here to do -- maintain the impression of a strong Federation presence. Gandrine certainly hadn't been chosen as a shore leave planet for its scenic qualities.

"Here's a good one," Sulu said, grinning as he tapped the read out. "Local Bar #234. Prices -- moderate. Beverage selection: mind-numbingly unimaginative. Cuisine: The best that can be said is that it will not linger in your digestive system very long. Atmosphere: quiet desperation."

Chekov rolled his eyes. "Who is writing these?"

"Someone in the Science department -- maybe one of the sociologists. Obviously someone who doesn't want to be doing that job much longer. "

"They're taking the wrong approach," Chekov said, shaking his head. " Mr. Spock will merely reprimand the person for being frivolous. He'd only take the individual off the assignment for being inaccurate -- Unfortunately."

"Oh, come on. I don't see any harm in it."

"I do." Chekov crossed his arms. "We're visiting all the worst places on the planet simply because you find their descriptions amusing."

"Here's another good one," Sulu said eagerly, ignoring him in favor of the tiny screen's read out. " Local bar 236 -- A picturesque spot from which to be shanghaied. Beverages -- Ill advised. Cuisine -- slightly less lethal than the patrons. Atmosphere -- Abandon all hope ye who enter here."

The navigator sighed. "I think I prefer the one with quiet desperation. Is it far?"

"We're practically on top of it," Sulu replied, snapping the lid of the device closed and heading off confidently.

This, Chekov knew, didn't mean anything. Sulu was a superb pilot, but one didn't have to travel on ground with him for very long to see why he'd not become a navigator. The Russian shrugged to himself and followed his helmpartner's lead resignedly.

As they travel down streets of unquiet desperation, (passing several perfectly nice bars that Chekov knew Sulu would tell him were not on the list today), the navigator thought about the Klingon he'd seen. *Thought* he'd seen. It couldn't be him. That one was dead. The one who had claimed him two years ago when he'd been captured by that Klingon ship. . . .

"Dead," Chekov said to himself firmly, refusing to entertain even the smallest hint of a memory about the incident. He'd put all that behind him long ago.

Or had he? It worried the navigator that he'd thought he'd seen that particular Klingon. Was it an implicitly racist, 'All of them look alike' reaction? Or did this indicate that on some subconscious level, he still had issues left unresolved?

An unexpected noise brought Chekov back to the present and prompted him to full awareness of his surroundings. Sulu had led them into a twisting corridor between two rows of haphazardly placed storage units. The main passageway they'd been traveling down was not currently visible, nor was the street they were presumably walking towards. It had all the hallmarks of what Sulu would consider a shortcut, but was also a perfect spot for an ambush.

"Sulu," he said, slowing as he looked about him from where the noise had come. "I don't think we should.Š"

A blue stream of energy shot out from between two of the buildings. The helmsman crumpled to the pavement, stunned.

Chekov reached for his phaser. Before he could grasp it, what felt like a Klingon disruptor was pressed to the back of his head.

"No move," the distorted voice of the person holding the pistol ordered. As his assailant relieved the navigator of his weapon and communicator, two rag-robed figures scurried from the shadows to do the same to his fallen comrade. Swathed from head to toe, it was impossible to tell who or even what manner of creatures they were. Too small for Klingons. Probably locals of some sort.

One of the attackers took the tricorder Sulu had been carrying as the other dragged the helmsman into the alley from which they'd emerged. He Šor she Šor it pushed the device up to the navigator's face." Work this!" the mugger demanded through a raspy voice synthesizer, its eyes -- or eye shielded by an opaque visor.

Chekov frowned. Information that would enable one to predict the movements of Federation personnel on leave would have to be deemed quite valuable to criminal elements. He hoped it was not valuable enough for them to kill for. "No."

The attacker hesitated as the navigator hoped he would. "Shoot him," the criminal holding him decided.

Disappointingly, the other agreed seemed to agree that this was a sensible course of action.

Chekov closed his eyes as the disrupter was pointed at him, hoping that he was only going to be stunned.

There was a whine and a flash.

He opened his eyes, surprised to find that instead of him it was the creature with the gun who'd been evaporated. With a quiet thump, something made an impact against the back of the local holding him. Perhaps a knife. His captor went suddenly rigid, then its grip loosened.

Chekov tried shake it off and to turn to face the new entrant into the fray, but he found himself once more in the clutches of someone. Someone big. Someone with a strangely familiar smell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Taming 3, Version B, Ending A  
> By Karmen Ghia and Skazinetilsky  
> Chekov is kidnapped by an amorous Klingon warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains m/m sex. If you are offended by this or under age, please move on. Click here http://google.com and have a nice day.
> 
> Disclaimer: Copyright 1999 by Skazinetilsky and Karmen Ghia. This original work of amateur fiction based on Star Trek makes transformative use of Star Trek for noncommercial purposes. This work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted material; intended not to infringe on the intellectual property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of Star Trek copyright or their assignees or licensees. Author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.
> 
> Further disclaimer: These are not standard issue Paramount Klingons. Don't be nervous. Enjoy.
> 
> The trilogy: This story is the last part of what became The Taming trilogy. _The Taming_ (Taming 1) and _The Return_ (Taming 2) can both be read at either Little Russian Bedtime Stories (http://www.fortunecity.com/tatooine/heinlein/80/title.htm) or Karmen Ghia-After The Rescue (http://karmen_ghia.tripod.com). It is possible to enjoy this story without reading Taming 1 and 2 but Taming 3ba makes a little more sense if you do read the ones before it.
> 
> The title: This story's title is derived from the fact that there is a Taming 3, version A and that Taming 3, version B has another, longer ending (ending B) in the works. The first 1,200 words of Taming 3a, 3ba and 3bb are exactly the same. Taming 3ba goes on for quite awhile and then has the shorter A ending. Someday, Taming 3 will be put together in a hypertext format and all will be well.
> 
> For more Chekov fiction, visit Little Russian Bedtime Stories at http://www.fortunecity.com/tatooine/heinlein/80/title.htm and/or COCO CHANNEL, http://geocties.com/SoHo/Workshop/8831/
> 
>  
> 
> Beta by Jane. Our gratitude forever and ever, hallelujah, amen.

"Chekov, are you all right?"

"I thought I saw...." The lieutenant stared at the street vendor's cart where only an old woman stood now. "...someone I knew."

Sulu was too polite to express his disbelief more strongly than in the soft dubious laugh he gave before taking his helmpartner's arm and guiding him forward.

It did seem highly unlikely that the navigator would run into an acquaintance on Gandrine 3. It was a planet on the edges of territory claimed by both the Federation forces and the Klingons. Gandrine played the coquette allowing herself to be wooed by Federation and Empire without pledging herself to either. Chekov reassessed looking at the street scene. More likely Gandrine was playing the whore, jumping into bed with whoever had the most valuables at the moment.

All in all Gandrine wasn't the sort of place that people you'd like to know lived and did business. Then again, the person Chekov thought he saw was not someone he was pleased to have known.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sulu repeated after a moment. "You look pale.

Perfectly natural after seeing a ghost, Chekov thought. What he said aloud was, "It's very hot. Could we get a drink?"

"Let me check the list." The helmsman broke out a small device that looked like a tricorder. "What's on the menu today?"

For security reasons, personnel on leave were required to travel in pairs during the day and groups of at least five at night. As a further precaution, they were given a list of establishments to patronize. The selection rotated each day so no one business would get the reputation of being a Starfleet hangout. Since this arrangement tended to make on-leave personnel to travel in packs, it also created a false impression for the locals of how many of them there were. Which was what the Enterprise was here to do -- maintain the impression of a strong Federation presence. Gandrine certainly hadn't been chosen as a shore leave planet for its scenic qualities.

"Here's a good one," Sulu said, grinning as he tapped the read out. "Local Bar #234. Prices -- moderate. Beverage selection: mind-numbingly unimaginative. Cuisine: The best that can be said is that it will not linger in your digestive system very long. Atmosphere: quiet desperation."

Chekov rolled his eyes. "Who is writing these?"

"Someone in the Science department -- maybe one of the sociologists. Obviously someone who doesn't want to be doing that job much longer."

"They're taking the wrong approach," Chekov said, shaking his head. "Mr. Spock will merely reprimand the person for being frivolous. He'd only take the individual off the assignment for being inaccurate -- Unfortunately."

"Oh, come on. I don't see any harm in it."

"I do." Chekov crossed his arms. "We're visiting all the worst places on the planet simply because you find their descriptions amusing."

"Here's another good one," Sulu said eagerly, ignoring him in favor of the tiny screen's read out. "Local bar 236 -- A picturesque spot from which to be shanghaied. Beverages -- Ill advised. Cuisine -- slightly less lethal than the patrons. Atmosphere -- Abandon all hope ye who enter here."

The navigator sighed. "I think I prefer the one with quiet desperation. Is it far?"

"We're practically on top of it," Sulu replied, snapping the lid of the device closed and heading off confidently.

This, Chekov knew, didn't mean anything. Sulu was a superb pilot, but one didn't have to travel on ground with him for very long to see why he'd not become a navigator. The Russian shrugged to himself and followed his helmpartner's lead resignedly.

As they traveled down streets of unquiet desperation, (passing several perfectly nice bars that Chekov knew Sulu would tell him were not on the list today), the navigator thought about the Klingon he'd seen. *Thought* he'd seen. It couldn't be him. That one was dead. The one who had claimed him two years ago when he'd been captured by that Klingon ship....

"Dead," Chekov said to himself firmly, refusing to entertain even the smallest hint of a memory about the incident. He'd put all that behind him long ago.

Or had he? It worried the navigator that he'd thought he'd seen that particular Klingon. Was it an implicitly racist, 'All of them look alike' reaction? Or did this indicate that on some subconscious level, he still had issues left unresolved?

An unexpected noise brought Chekov back to the present and prompted him to full awareness of his surroundings. Sulu had led them into a twisting corridor between two rows of haphazardly placed storage units. The main passageway they'd been traveling down was not currently visible, nor was the street they were presumably walking towards. It had all the earmarks of what Sulu would consider a shortcut, but was also a perfect spot for an ambush.

"Sulu," he said, slowing as he looked about him to see from where the noise had come. "I don't think we should...."

A blue stream of energy shot out from between two of the buildings. The helmsman crumpled to the pavement, stunned.

Chekov reached for his phaser. Before he could grasp it, what felt like a Klingon disruptor was pressed to the back of his head.

"No move," the distorted voice of the person holding the pistol ordered.

As his assailant relieved the navigator of his weapon and communicator, two rag-robed figures scurried from the shadows to do the same to his fallen comrade. Swathed from head to toe, it was impossible to tell who or even what manner of creatures they were. Too small for Klingons. Probably locals... of some sort.

One of the attackers took the tricorder Sulu had been carrying as the other dragged the helmsman into the alley from which they'd emerged. He... or she... or it... pushed the device up to the navigator's face. "Work this!" the mugger demanded through a raspy voice synthesizer, its eyes... or eyeÖ shielded by an opaque visor.

Chekov frowned. Information that would enable one to predict the movements of Federation personnel on leave would have to be deemed quite valuable to criminal elements. He hoped it was not valuable enough for them to kill for. "No."

The attacker hesitated as the navigator hoped he would. "Shoot him," the criminal holding him decided.

Disappointingly, the other agreed seemed to agree that this was a sensible course of action.

Chekov closed his eyes as the disrupter was pointed at him, hoping that he was only going to be stunned.

There was a whine and a flash.

He opened his eyes, surprised to find that instead of him it was the creature with the gun who'd been evaporated. With a quiet thump, something made an impact against the back of the local holding him. Perhaps a knife. His captor went suddenly rigid, then its grip loosened.

Chekov tried shake it off and to turn to face the new entrant into the fray, but he found himself once more in the clutches of someone. Someone big. Someone with a strangely familiar smell. A huge arm in a Klingon uniform wrapped itself around him.

"It's all right now, my prize," said a nightmare voice as a hypo was pressed to his throat. "I've come to take you home."

***

"It can't be you," Chekov said as soon as his vision cleared. He had awoken to find himself strapped to a chair in the very bare cabin of some sort of vessel.

"But it is," Kahrag said, smiling. He held a glass of water up to the navigator's lips. "You thought me dead, did you not?"

Chekov couldn't answer around the large mouthful of liquid he was forced to take.

"The hull was breached in my section," the Klingon explained, as he compelled his captive to drain the cup. "Many of my comrades were killed immediately. The rest assumed themselves dead as the bulkheads closed trapping us inside the leaking hull. But I thought of you and crawled into a ventilation shaft. I and a few others found a pocket of air. It was days before the wreckage cleared and we were found. Many of my companions died. But I had a reason to live."

Chekov flinched away as Kahrag fondly patted his face. "And you've been searching for me ever since," he said bitterly.

"Your cowardly vessel doesn't come near the reach of the Empire very often," the Klingon said, kneeling beside the navigator. He ran a sensor over his captive's forearm. "But I have sources on most of the border planets. It was only a matter of time."

The sensor beeped and the Klingon switched instruments. He deftly removed the transponder buried in Chekov's arm and then proudly held it up for his inspection.

"My ship will still find me," the Russian promised unsmilingly. "They'll come after you."

"I think not," Kahrag replied, dropping the transponder to the floor and crushed it casually. "We're already several hours within the borders of the Empire... And will go much further." He studied his captive's face intently. "You seem different."

Chekov, still struggling with the idea of being several hours within Klingon territory in the clutches of a man he'd believed dead, said nothing.

The Klingon tilted his head to one side. "You've had a lover, have you not? A true one. A man."

The navigator closed his eyes.

"I am disappointed." Kahrag stroked his cheek. "I have looked forward to teaching you such things. But I'm sure there is still much you have to learn. And it will make you easier to control."

Chekov pulled away. "No, it won't."

The Klingon laughed. "We will have much time together to find out, my prize," he said, rising. "For you are mine once more. You will never leave me again."

"Where're we bound," Chekov asked, trying to fight down his panic with information.

"The Homeworld," Kahrag informed him.

"Yours?" Chekov was shocked.

"Yes, what other?"

"Where is the officer I was with in the alley?" Chekov asked, belatedly realizing he'd not thought of Sulu since waking.

"I've no idea. I left him there," Kahrag shrugged, "would you have liked me to bring him with you?"

"No."

Kahrag toyed with one of the restraining straps. "If I untie you, will you behave?"

"Of course," Chekov answered too quickly.

The Klingon hesitated and then shrugged. "We must see if we share the same definition of beha ...." His thought was interrupted by Chekov's fist on his jaw.

Chekov leapt back, nursing his bruised hand. He'd been aiming for the Klingon's throat and regretted his miscalculation. He crouched, waiting for Kahrag to spring at him.

But nothing of the sort happened. Kahrag merely picked up the restraints and put them away. From the same compartment, he drew out a reader, seated himself and began to read. He ignored the lieutenant.

Chekov straightened up and looked round the room. It was empty except for a bed and a chair. The walls were inset with panels, Chekov assumed they were storage compartments, the same as had been on the battlecruiser. He wondered what kind of ship he was on now. He looked at the Klingon, calmly reading: "What are you doing, Klingon?" he demanded.

"Conserving my energy for later," Kahrag answered blandly.

"Later?" Chekov snarled.

"Yes. Later. Bedtime." The Klingon didn't look up, he didn't have to; he could feel Chekov's rage surge through the room. 'This one never changes,' he thought. 'How delightful.'

Chekov, at something of a loss, prowled this way and that, exploring the small area of the room that was farthest from the Klingon. He found neither exit nor weapon.

Some time went by. Kahrag glanced at his chrono and decided to finish the chapter before he tackled his prize again.

Chekov had let his guard down a little in the lull, he was still somewhat groggy from the tranquilizer shot. He snapped to attention, however, when the Klingon rose and put the reader away. He turned and strolled casually up to the Russian.

The navigator put up a warning hand. "I don't know what you think you're going to do, however..."

"You don't know?" the Klingon repeated and laughed as he grasped Chekov's wrist. "Have you forgotten me so soon?"

When the Russian struck at him with the other hand, that wrist was captured as well. The Klingon backed him up to the wall. "Have you forgotten how pleasing I find you?" Chekov turned his head, but could feel the Klingon's hot breath against his neck as he was pressed between Kahrag's huge frame and the unyielding bulkhead. "How your body excites me? How your spirit enflames me..."

"You are not going to have sex with me," the navigator said from between tightly clenched teeth.

"Oh? And how do you propose to prevent me?" Grinning, the Klingon pulled him forward.

Seeing where this was leading, Chekov struggled, but couldn't stop himself from being lifted and tossed to the hard mattress of the Klingon's bunk. Resistance was further problematized when Kahrag's massive bulk landed on top of him, pinning him in place.

"Let me go!" Even the added strength lent by adrenaline was insufficient to budge the Klingon's bulk. "You insane monster! I'll kill you, if you don't..."

Kahrag put a hand over his mouth to silence this ranting. "You pretend to be irrational," he accused. "This is unwise. It wastes your energy and it arouses no sympathy within me. It would be better for you to look at the situation logically -- as I know it is your nature to do."

When he removed his hand, the navigator remained sullenly silent, refusing to acknowledge the correctness of his words.

"The facts are these," Kahrag continued. "I have a powerful desire for you. After a long wait and much patience, I intend to sate it. You are incapable of mounting of significant physical resistance to prevent this. Your choices are but two: seduction or rape."

Chekov swallowed. "Is there a difference between them?" he asked cynically.

Kahrag smiled and brushed his captive's hair from his eyes. "For seduction, I will be mindful of your co-operation and pleasure. For rape, I will not."

Chekov closed his eyes. His mind, as the Klingon predicted, began to calculate the potential for severe physical trauma, his chances for escape, and other pertinent factors and tote them up to compare and contrast on an obscene little mental scoreboard.

"It's to be seduction, then," Kahrag deduced. "Is it not?"

Keeping his eyes tightly closed, the navigator nodded.

Kahrag grunted with pleasure. "Good, then," he husked, "we begin."

Chekov let his body go limp as the Klingon happily pulled off all his clothes. The lieutenant, still groggy from the tranquilizer, wondered if he could just sleep through all of this. He found this impossible as Kahrag stroked gently down his chest, stopping briefly to fondle one of his nipples to hardness. Chekov shuddered and fought down his own arousal. He opened his eyes to remind himself where and with whom he was.

"Would this be easier for you if you were tied up, my prize?" Kahrag asked tenderly.

"No." Nothing was going to make this easier for Chekov.

"Ah," Kahrag observed and sat back on his heels to look over his supine prize. He met and easily overcame a little reflexive resistance as he spread Chekov's legs very wide. A certain amount of residual rebellion could only be expected in this situation, he reasoned and was not offended by the Human's action. He pulled one of Chekov's feet into his lap and massaged it as he contemplated the story he would tell for his captive's enjoyment and edification. "I have been reading your Terran poets again, my prize, this one very interesting ..."

"I'm sure I couldn't care less," Chekov snapped, lifting his foot out of Kahrag's huge hand.

The Klingon was done with that foot anyway and simply picked up the other one to massage. "Oh, I think you will, Human," he murmured caressing the silky white flesh stretched invitingly over its fragile trellis of bone, "I think you will. It's an interesting story, not unlike your own. A beautiful creature believes she is content in her world until a stronger being rises up, when least expected, and carries her off to his domain." He paused to admire the graceful arch of Chekov's foot. "She unwisely resists him and he wisely imprisons her. She refuses to eat or accept any kind of pleasure from her new master for three days." Kahrag put Chekov's foot down. "But after three days, she accepts three Terran seeds to eat and forever belongs to her new lord." The Klingon gently stroked the inside of Chekov's thigh. "You see, the moment she accepted pleasure in the form of food or whatever she became the property of her lord, her lover." The Klingon trailed off, damping down the lust that threatened to overwhelm him, remembering his promise to be mindful of the Human's co-operation as well as pleasure. "And so will you because you will enjoy this," Kahrag informed him, lying full length on Chekov, "and you will be mine, body and soul." He bent to kiss the Human's tightly closed lips.

Chekov jerked his head away. "I refuse to kiss you, Klingon," he said firmly, "and I will not enjoy this."

Kahrag turned Chekov's lips back to him with one finger beneath the lieutenant's chin. "That is well, my prize," he said softly. "I will have enough pleasure simply kissing you." And did so, gently but firmly working Chekov's mouth open and exploring its warm softness.

Crushed beneath the Klingon, Chekov forced himself to remember he had no alternative but to submit. 'Enjoy this? Never!' he vowed.

Of course the lieutenant's body had other ideas and Kahrag was delighted to commune with them if not with their supposed master. The Klingon ran his hands over the soft flesh he'd dreamed of for so long. Drinking in the scent and texture of Chekov, the Human almost overwhelmed the Klingon's senses. Recklessly he drew his tongue along Chekov's collarbone and shoulder, tasting the sweetness that haunted his dreams. And now was his, he reminded himself, slowing down to explore the subtle slope of flesh where the Human's chest and shoulder converged. Sighing with pleasure, Kahrag descended to the lieutenant's hard little nipples and gently applied his teeth and lips until Chekov flinched. Flinched in pleasure or discomfort - it did not matter to the Klingon as long as there was a reaction. He wrapped his huge arms around Chekov's waist and pulled the Human's groin against his. Kahrag gently caressed the soft mounds of Chekov's ass as he smoothed his lips down the Human's hard, flat belly. The Klingon nuzzled into the silky brown thatch and pretended to ignore the rosy Terran cock arching unwillingly beneath his chin. The Human could wait a little longer. It was good for him to be teased, Kahrag thought, 'he will enjoy it so much more when I release him.' Feeling Chekov's hands on his shoulders, the Klingon looked up at him.

"I can't ..." Chekov managed, breathing hard. Aroused against his will and horrified that his nightmare was coming true. "I can't... please stop." He was shaking as much from lust as despair and revulsion.

For an answer, Kahrag slipped the head of Chekov's penis between his lips. Never breaking eye contact, he sucked the moisture off the tip. He was delighted to feel the Terran's cock stiffen and watched Chekov squeeze his eyes shut before devouring him.

Knowing he was finished, Chekov took his hands off the Klingon's shoulders and buried his face in them. He was aroused and repelled and he'd never known they could exist so powerfully together. It was as much of a sob of anguish as pleasure as Kahrag brought him off. He lay shuddering in the aftermath of his profound orgasm as the Klingon sucked every last drop of cum off him.

'Delicious,' Kahrag thought as he let the lieutenant's soft pink flesh slip from his lips. He lay his cheek on Chekov thigh so they could both catch their breath. 'And the night is young,' he thought happily, rising up and pulling off his uniform.

Chekov, aghast, rolled frantically away as the naked Klingon tried to take him in his arms. He squirmed away from the cooler body heat and the leathery honey colored skin pressed against him. He refused to compare it to the feel of well-tanned, very expensive hide even though that was the best description of healthy male Klingon skin.

Kahrag was indeed a healthy male Klingon. He was also an amazingly patient, healthy male Klingon and slowed down so Chekov could get over his initial panic. The Klingon contented himself with holding the lieutenant close and pressing, not rubbing, his erection against the warm, white Terran belly. He stroked Chekov's back until the convulsive shuddering receded to manageable levels. He let his hands slide lower until he could cup that magnificent ass in them again. He allowed his fingertips to slide between the round cheeks and felt the lieutenant gasp and stiffen in his arms.

"Relax," the Klingon growled into the Human's delicate shell like ear.

"Please, Klingon," Chekov hissed, "don't!" Although the lieutenant was on one level relieved that Kahrag's cock was not gigantically huge, on another level he was aware that Kahrag was significantly larger than any of his previous lovers. He was desperately trying to come to grips with the panic this newly discovered fact provoked.

Kahrag gently stroked the small puckered entrance with his fingertips. "You have done this before?" he asked.

"No!" Chekov lied quickly.

The Klingon leaned back to look into the lieutenant's stubborn little face and decided that he did not believe him. However, Kahrag astutely realized that it would be quite a stretch for the lieutenant to get him inside. Not, alas, something to be accomplished in one evening. But Kahrag decided it was not necessary for the Terran to know that at just that moment. He removed his hand but only to suck on his middle finger and get it very wet and slippery before returning it to it's former occupation. He began easing the tip in with a gentle but insistent rocking motion. He tightened his arms against the lieutenant's struggles. "Be still," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you; have I hurt you yet? Does this hurt?"

It did not but Chekov told him it did. Kahrag was not impressed and offered to replace his finger with his tongue.

"Would you prefer that?" he asked considerately.

"No!"

"Well, perhaps another time," the Klingon murmured abstractedly, working his finger in up to the first joint.

Chekov gave up struggling - it was not only useless, it was demoralizing. He tried to think of something else but all he could think of was that he liked this when Sulu or Scott did it and he was trying not to like it now. He had tensed his muscles trying to keep the Klingon's finger outside of him but it had done no good. He relaxed against his will and hoped for the best but doubted anything good could possibly happen in this situation.

Kahrag withdrew his finger and reached into a cabinet over the bunk. "There, see, how much better everything is when you relax a little, my prize?" he observed happily, squeezing some gel onto his fingers and returning to Chekov's ass.

"No," Chekov snarled, starting slightly at the cool lube slipping inside him.

"Sorry, my prize," Kahrag said, sliding in deeper thanks to greater viscosity. "Next time I'll warm it longer." He noted that the Human was not stretching very much but was not in any pain and this was a good thing. Kahrag simply wanted to get to his goal and he would be content.

Chekov squirmed against the invading digit and protested until Kahrag told him to shut up or be gagged. He could not suppress his gasp and the violent twitch in his cock when the Klingon found his prostate.

'Ah ha,' Kahrag thought smugly, 'I have reached my goal.' He applied himself to finding the most maddening rhythm in which to stroke the hard place behind the Terran's penis. A rhythm and pressure that caused Chekov to wiggle helplessly against the Klingon's cock, much to the Klingon's delight.

Kahrag rolled onto his back and pulled Chekov on top of him. Very aroused and more than ready, the Klingon, completely controlling the Human, pressed the warm, writhing body against his own cock until he came. Very considerately he brought Chekov off in the same moment. They lay in a breathless heap: one elated, the other disgusted. Kahrag gave Chekov's prostate one final caress and was pleased to feel the Russian jump. But enough was enough, he gently withdrew his finger and reached under the bunk for the towel he'd put there earlier. He rolled Chekov off him and mopped them both. He rose, brought Chekov a glass of water and made him drink it. Mellowed by sex, Kahrag was contemplating how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. Or rather, how he wanted Chekov to spend the rest of the night. After such sweet sex it seemed a shame to have to chain him up so Kahrag decided to appeal to the Human's reason and logic again. After all, it had worked before. "Chekov," he said gently and was puzzled to see the Human start. "What's wrong?"

"You've never called me by name," Chekov admitted after a stubborn pause. "It surprised me."

Kahrag nodded a little impatiently, he was tired and sated and wanted to sleep ...now. "Look, this is a battlecruiser. If anything happens to me, your fate would be very uncertain, understand?"

"No."

"What I mean is don't try anything while I'm asleep," Kahrag said, laying down again beside him. "You Terrans have an expression 'the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know'." He yawned and pulled the lieutenant into his arms. "And I am the devil you now know very well," he said drowsily.

Chekov twitched this way and that, trying to extricate himself from his captor. "I want to sleep on the floor," he insisted.

"Forget it," Kahrag growled, "go to sleep." He dropped off with the lieutenant clasped to his chest.

Eventually Chekov did go to sleep in the Klingon's arms but he was not happy about it.

***

In his dream, he was being caressed to full hardness. Gentle hands stroked his cock and fondled his balls. Soft lips murmured endearments against his neck. 'My prize...'

Chekov jerked awake and tried to kick free of Kahrag's impudent hands. "Let me go, you fucking Klingon!"

"Ah, if only," Kahrag muttered from behind. He was rubbing his cock between Chekov's thighs. It was not exactly what he wanted but it would do for now.

Chekov struggled against Kahrag's caresses and his own arousal but in vain, the Klingon brought them off within seconds of each other. Had Chekov more experience with men he would have been deeply impressed by Kahrag's finesse and ability to get himself and his unwilling partner off almost simultaneously. But Chekov did not have more experience with men, so Kahrag's superior sexual skills were completely lost on him. The Russian was still cursing his fate when the Klingon rose and went into the bathroom.

Chekov got out of bed and tried the door. It was locked, of course. 'Where would I go if I could get out?' he wondered glumly. He looked around the room: no options, ideas or inspirations presented themselves. He pulled a sheet around him as Kahrag came out of the bathroom.

"Drink this," the Klingon handed the navigator a glass of water and watched him drink it. "I have set the shower for you; you have three minutes after you step under the beam." Kahrag was moving around the cabin, putting on his uniform, running a comb through his long onyx mane before tying it back. "Here's your breakfast," he said, drawing a hypospray out of a compartment and applying it to Chekov's neck. "I'll try to find you some fresh food later. There might still be some on board from Gandrine 3." He tossed a reader on the bunk. "You may amuse yourself with that, my prize, I've set it to a Klingon grammar tutorial. You'll be needing it in the near future," he commented, patted Chekov's cheek and left.

***

Chekov squeezed his eyes closed against uncontrollable tears.

"Patience, my prize," Kahrag soothed, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

The Klingon tattoo artist looked up from his work peevishly. "Tell your little whore to sit still or I'll carve a rune into his ass as well."

Kahrag laughed. "Yes. But afterwards who would bury you?"

The tattoo artist found it prudent to focus his attention on his work.

The Klingon art of tattooing had apparently not been disturbed by technological advances in several centuries. It was still done in a quaintly old-fashioned manner using needles and ink. The pain had been endurable for the duration of applying two large stylized letters to the back of his right hand. However, when the tattooist had moved to start afresh on his left, something inside the lieutenant snapped. The constant nagging pain combined with his general despair and left him utterly defeated. Ill-suppressed sobs shook him periodically. He knew his inability to bear the ordeal stoically was probably causing Kahrag to lose face. He didn't care.

The gunner wiped his captive's sweat-beaded forehead with a rag. "Courage, my prize," he said in Standard.

Courage was not strictly necessary. Chekov was securely tied to the chair he'd originally awoken in. If it were possible to move, he would have.

The tattooist paused and reached into his kit for a new color.

Kahrag stopped him. "That is sufficient," he said in Klingonese. "I'll hire someone with more artistry and less idiocy to fill in the colors."

The other Klingon sneered at Chekov as if blaming the navigator for his employer's dissatisfaction. "I don't care much for Humans."

"Well, I hope you don't care much for being paid either," Kahrag replied with lethal cheerfulness.

Chekov didn't know enough of the language to follow any of the haggling between them. He'd only caught words here and there from their previous conversation. He was relieved, however, when the tattooist was tossed a few coins and ushered out the cabin door with a firm kick.

"I should have waited until we were in the city to have you marked," Kahrag grumbled, turning back to loosen the lieutenant's bonds. "But it could be most dangerous if there was any confusion about what you are and who you belong to."

Chekov stared numbly at the bloody black lines on his hands. "Is that what this says?" he asked bitterly. "Whore of Kahrag?"

The Klingon stroked his cheek fondly and lifted his chin. "Are you ashamed of me, my prize?"

"I'm ashamed to be your whore," he replied.

"You're not my whore." Kahrag patted him on the back before crossing the cabin. He picked up a folded garment and tossed it to the navigator. "Whores get paid."

Chekov threw it back at him with a curse.

"And," the Klingon continued picking up the garment, "I have never felt any affection for a whore."

The navigator held his ground as the gunner advanced on him. Kahrag shook out the plain, dust-colored tunic. It was long-sleeved and high necked. The garment was considerably more modest than the oversized briefs he was currently wearing. The Klingon dropped the outfit over the Russian's head.

"Also," Kahrag said, reaching under the garment to force Chekov's arms into the proper holes. "I have never taken the time to seduce a mere whore."

The Russian closed his eyes and turned his head away from the Klingon's lips.

"Therefore you are not a whore," Kahrag continued, unfazed. He laced the opening in the front of the tunic securely closed. "And I will not have you say so."

"And what if I do?" Chekov had to lift his head as the Klingon threaded the fastenings through a grommet-like device at the top of the tall collar. "Will you beat me as you did before?"

"You are rebellious by nature." The gunner laced the right arm of the garment to fit the lieutenant's wrist. "And will, no doubt, require much guidance administered by a firm hand. But if you think that by disobeying you can goad me into keeping you too sore to serve my pleasure..." the Klingon grinned at him as he switched to the other arm. "...then you are mistaken. There are forms of punishment equally effective as the strap. Why, soon, the very thought that you might be banished from my bed will keep you anxiously obedient."

Chekov pulled away from him. "Never."

Kahrag put his hands on his hips and examined his handiwork. Except for the heavy fabric and severe cut, the shapeless calf-length garment could have been an old-fashioned nightshirt. "This slave garment suits you ill, my prize," the Klingon concluded. "But it will keep men's eyes from you."

The lieutenant jumped with surprise as klaxon sounded over the ship's comm system.

"Come, my prize!" Kahrag removed a pair of handcuffs from the bag on his bunk and gleefully clapped them onto the navigator's wrists. "We are home!"

***

Never in his wildest imaginings did Chekov ever dream that he'd be walking down the streets of a major city on the Klingon homeworld. Never in his worst nightmares did he imagine he'd be doing so as a slave, led by a thong strung through the chains on his wrists.

The navigator gawked at the tall buildings of rust colored stone. Many had burnished domed roofs and were decorated with horizontal bands of blue and green. The lieutenant wondered if the colors held any significance.

The passers-by, most of whom were in military garb, gawked at Chekov.

Kahrag, with his bag over his shoulder and his captive on a leash, walked as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Ow!" The navigator bruised his heel on yet another loose stone in the pavement. "The next time you decide to take me for a hike, I hope you will kindly provide me with some shoes."

Kahrag laughed as he stopped at a gate and paused to have his identity confirmed by the surveillance device. "I do not intend for you to do a significant amount of hiking any time soon, my prize. Come here."

He pulled the lieutenant onto a metal plate in the pavement. Machinery buzzed as Chekov was scanned. A distorted computerized voice barked questions in Klingonese. Kahrag barked back his answers.

"There," the Klingon said, as the gate slowly lifted. "Now security knows that you belong here."

"I don't belong...." Chekov broke off as the rising portal revealed something that he *had* seen in nightmares -- a large courtyard full of armed Klingon warriors.

Kahrag pulled the stunned lieutenant forward. "This is our training institution," he explained, leading the navigator onto a covered breezeway that formed the borders of the courtyard. They passed orderly drill squads and ferocious combat practices. Chekov stared open mouthed at what he now recognized as being young Klingons in battle dress. Any time any of them paused in their assignment to return his gaze, an instructor was instantly there with a ferociously unintelligible reprimand.

"My assignment here is temporary," Kahrag was saying, "I should be back in space again within the next year... perhaps more, if this damnable detente continues." He turned a corner that took them off the breezeway in a direction opposite the courtyard and main buildings. "My commander said I should consider this posting a tribute to my skills, but I find lecturing to the ignorant tiresome."

Soon they were walking down a row of very plain, identical one-story buildings. "This is where the instructors are billeted," the Klingon explained. He approached the entrance of one of the dwellings. He placed his palm on a security device and allowed his data to clear before taking out his key. "It's not safe for you to leave this area," he warned the lieutenant. "And I am not yet certain how well-advised it is for you to venture even this far."

The door opened and Kahrag pulled his captive inside. The small house seemed to be one continuous room. Architecturally, it was quite simple, but unlike the Klingon's quarters on the warship, it was filled with all sorts of unlikely artifacts.

Chekov would have liked to look longer, but Kahrag quickly tossed his bag aside and used the chain around the lieutenant's wrists to direct him to another position. The Klingon pushed the navigator against the back of a piece of furniture.

"And now, my prize," he growled affectionately, pulling up the back of the slave garment, "it is time to welcome you properly to your new home."

"That might have to wait awhile longer, Kahrag," rumbled a huge Klingon rising from his seat by the door. In Kahrag's sexual rush, neither he nor Chekov had noticed their guest. "Admiral Krnivi wants you to report to him the moment you arrive. I was sent here to make it happen."

"Yes, Captain Korzra." Kahrag reluctantly pulled down Chekov's skirts. "If you will just give me moment to settle my concubine, I will be right with you..."

"I will look after him until you return, Commander," Korzra assured him in a tone that headed off argument. "The admiral had that in mind when he sent me to wait here for you."

"Yes, sir." Kahrag turned to go.

"Kahrag."

"Sir?"

"Keys." Korzra gestured to Chekov's handcuffs.

"Sir." Kahrag handed over the keys reluctantly and left.

Korzra turned his attention to Chekov and took a good look at him before undoing the cuffs. "I see he's marked you as his property already," Korzra remarked in Standard as he examined the Human's hands. "Seems a shame to mar such beautiful skin but necessary. These," he gestured to the letters, "will keep the other Klingons off of you."

"For awhile perhaps," a deep voice rumbled in Standard.

Chekov turned to see another Klingon entering from another part of the room.

"Kboexi," Korzra nodded. "I'd almost forgotten you were here."

"You were always distracted by exotic beauty, Korzra," Kboexi murmured. Taking Chekov by the chin, he turned him this way and that in the light, examining him. "I must commend Kahrag on his taste," he murmured, letting Chekov go. "You sat on Kirk's bridge, didn't you, pretty one?"

Chekov took a step back from them. "My name is Pavel Chekov," he said. "Second Lieutenant, Starfleet serial number..."

"We know who you are," Kboexi said, placing a finger on Chekov's lips.

"And we find that very interesting," Korzra informed him.

"Yes, very interesting," Kboexi murmured.

"Why?" Chekov asked, slipping away from the Klingon's fingers.

"Various reasons that do not concern you just now, Human," Kboexi was suddenly all business. He looked around the room. "Find the kitchen and make tea. Keep an eye on him, Korzra," he said, shoving Chekov in that general direction. He flung himself into a chair as if suddenly exhausted.

"With pleasure," Korzra growled, ushering Chekov into the minimal kitchen. Seeing the Human was at a loss, Korzra showed him how to make Klingon tea. "Kahrag better teach you Klingonese fast, Human, before you mistake poison for tea," he muttered not unkindly.

"How do you know who I am?" Chekov whispered.

"Kboexi is obsessed with the Kirk," Korzra whispered back. "Knows everything we can find out about him. Including his bridge personnel. All intelligence about Kirk comes directly to Kboexi. He's our top Kirk watcher. And you," Korzra moved in and drew Chekov into his arms, "are heaven sent." He lowered his lips to the struggling Human's.

"Korzra," Kboexi said irritably from the doorway, "this is NOT getting me any tea, is it?" He shot Chekov an accusing look, as if it were all his fault. "Not to mention that you are mussing Kahrag's concubine." He watched Korzra wisely step away from Chekov. "Bring the tea, Human," Kboexi snarled and stalked off.

Chekov picked up the tray and gave Korzra a wide berth as he made his way back to the larger room. He set the tray on the only table and watched Kboexi slop tea into three cups.

"You can drink this, Human," Kboexi growled, "it is harmless to your kind."

Chekov took an experimental sip and found it like the water left over from boiled cabbage: disgusting.

"Sit," Kboexi commanded.

Chekov sat and was surprised when Kboexi launched into a Klingonese lesson. The Klingon identified objects in the room and had Chekov repeat the words. He then merely pointed to the objects and had Chekov repeat the words. Korzra looked on benignly and even joined in a little. Kboexi was an excellent teacher (not to mention that Chekov was a quick study) and he was teaching Chekov simple sentences by the time Kahrag returned.

The gunner and the two Klingons exchanged a few words before Kboexi and Korzra made their departure. They did not look at or speak to Chekov. Kahrag turned to the Human. "It appears you are of some importance to my superiors," he said grimly.

"What does that mean?" Chekov asked quietly.

"That means that you are mine until they take you from me," Kahrag said calmly, advancing across the room.

Chekov shuddered and dodged behind a chair. "Then you should keep your hands off me, Klingon."

"Nonsense, my prize," Kahrag husked, catching Chekov round the waist, "as long as I don't do any permanent damage, they do not care what I do with you. Because now, Human," he snarled, dragging Chekov toward the back of the building, "I am to think of you as a hostage instead of property."

"A hostage," Chekov murmured those words like a prayer.

"Don't get your hopes up, Human, in this period of relative peace between our species there are no Klingons imprisoned in the Federation to trade you for," Kahrag said, tossing him on the bed. "That should give you some incentive to behave yourself. If you misbehave too much I will kill you and you will never get home."

"But you said..."

"At worst, I would draw a reprimand for killing you, Human. Be reasonable; you are valuable, some very important people feel your presence here might be beneficial in the future, but you are not precious to anyone but me." Kahrag looked down at him tenderly. "And I intend to enjoy you for as long as I can. Undress." He watched Chekov hesitate. "Human, even I have only so much patience and no more," he snarled, taking a step forward.

"Very well," Chekov sighed and began to work the lacings at his wrist.

Kahrag roamed about the room, putting his weapons away, kicking off his boots. Although it was only early evening, he was exhausted. The interview with the admiral and head of the Institute had been taxing. The thrust of it was that he was to keep Lieutenant Pavel A. Chekov in good condition should the need to exchange him for a high ranking Klingon prisoner in the Federation arise. That was the bad news, the good news was that there were no high ranking Klingons imprisoned in the Federation at that time and not in the foreseeable future. Kahrag had been assured and reassured that the Human would remain in his care until and if such a trade became necessary (which meant that Kahrag was not at liberty to sell Chekov, rent him or lose him at cards, but this was not the Klingon's first consideration where the Human was concerned). Kahrag had been more concerned to see Kboexi in his quarters when he returned. Kboexi's Kirk obsession was well known and deeply respected. Kahrag was concerned that Chekov might become the object of Kboexi's rage. Or lust. "What were you and Kboexi doing this afternoon?"

Chekov looked up from his unlacing. "He was teaching me Klingonese," he said blandly.

"He was teaching you Klingonese? Why?"

"I don't know," Chekov shrugged. "To pass the time, I guess."

'A better use of the time than raping you, I guess,' Kahrag thought but said nothing. He was distracted by Chekov pulling the slave robe over his head. He was enchanted by the fact that the Human draped it modestly in front of him. "I will send for a tailor tomorrow," Kahrag murmured. "I'm ordered to have you properly dressed. No slave robes or hobbles. We Klingons do not mistreat our guests." He reached out to pull the garment away from Chekov.

"What about these?" Chekov held out his hands with their half finished tattoos and held onto the garment.

"Oh, those will be finished for your own safety," Kahrag said breezily, yanking the robe from Chekov's hands. "If you are not clearly marked as belonging to my household, you will be anyone's prey. You must realize that, my prize." He drew the Human into his arms and began to graze on his neck and shoulder.

Chekov had had an object lesson in just that this afternoon. 'You are mussing Kahrag's concubine,' still rang in his ears. It was the fact that he was Kahrag's concubine that had saved him from being raped in the kitchen. 'The devil you know...' he thought wryly as Kahrag picked up one of his hands and licked the dried blood off the tattoo. "How much you please me, Human," Kahrag sighed. He kissed a trail to Chekov's groin and inhaled the Human's half mast cock.

Chekov jumped slightly as he was devoured and brought to full hardness. He shivered beneath Kahrag's demanding lips and tongue. He squirmed against the fingers that probed him and thrashed when they stroked his prostate. He was writhing like a wild thing when Kahrag brought him off in a sudden, shuddering, mind blowing climax.

The Klingon caressed him a little more before rising to dispense with his own clothes. He dragged Chekov under the covers with him and pried Chekov's resistant mouth open in a long, demanding kiss. "We must break in this bed, Human," Kahrag muttered, reaching for a container of slippery gel in the bedside cabinet.

"Must we?" Chekov asked. "Wouldn't you rather just get some sleep?"

"No." Chekov squirmed away from the slippery fingers. "I have been very patient with you, Human. Tonight you will be mine."

"You said you would not force me," Chekov reminded him.

"I'm not going to force you, Human," Kahrag said, rolling away. "I will, however, hand you over to the proper authorities and they can look after you indefinitely if you do not humor me." He stared hard at Chekov, as if daring him to draw the wrong conclusion.

'The devil you know...' Chekov thought, lowering his eyes in what he knew Kahrag would find a submissively inviting manner.

Kahrag found it so and drew the unresisting Human into his arms. "What will be easiest for you, my prize," he whispered tenderly, "on your back or on your stomach?"

'NEITHER!' Chekov shouted in his mind but then took a moment to consider. "Let me roll over," he sighed sadly.

Kahrag nodded and let him go. He patiently spent a few moments massaging some of the tension out of Chekov's back and thighs before he positioned himself between the Human's legs. He placed a pillow under Chekov's hips to elevate them and centered his cock. "Relax, Human, I won't hurt you," he growled, pressing forward.

Knowing he had no choice but to submit, Chekov pushed against the hard flesh carefully entering his body. He gasped anyway as Kahrag pushed the head past his tight ring. He was grateful the Klingon had the consideration to stop for a moment.

"Are you all right, Human?" Kahrag rasped at him.

"No," Chekov muttered.

"Shall I take it out?" Kahrag asked.

"Yes," Chekov said quickly and was shocked to feel the Klingon carefully easing out.

Kahrag possessed a great deal of self control and he was truly not interested in damaging Chekov. He decided that Chekov needed to be distracted, which meant more aroused. The Klingon turned Chekov on his side and slid his mouth down to the lieutenant's shriveled and neglected cock. Gently coaxing the Human's pink flesh back to full hardness and right to the edge of climax, Kahrag held very still and let Chekov calm down a little. He took this opportunity to slip more lube inside the Human.

Realizing that he'd merely postponed the inevitable, Chekov rolled back onto his stomach and let his mind wander far away. He was remembering a shore leave in his first year on the Enterprise as Kahrag mounted him again. As before, the Klingon stopped when he pushed inside but he did not speak until he'd gently worked his cock all the way in, and then only to groan Chekov's name a few times before he began to slowly fuck him.

Chekov folded his hands beneath his head and tried to ignore what was happening. It was difficult when Kahrag's penis stroked his prostate with every thrust and retreat. It was impossible when the Klingon reached beneath him and caressed him into a frenzy. He was thrusting wildly against the Klingon's pounding up to climax by the time Kahrag brought them both off. Chekov had a moment of voluptuous revulsion feeling Kahrag's cock jerking inside him but he was too drained to be properly horrified. He lay panting beneath the Klingon, wondering how his body could betray him by climaxing on Kahrag's demand. He buried his face in the pillow to hide his satiation as much as his disgust.

Kahrag could not have cared less, he was so high from his climax, the universe could have ended and that would have been fine. He kissed Chekov's neck and gently withdrew from his body. He tried to pull the Human into his arms but the Human was not in a cuddly mood so Kahrag contented himself with stroking Chekov's back and then rolling over and going to sleep. He even forwent the promised glass of llarth to celebrate the first time he took Chekov sexually.

Chekov lay awake awhile longer and finally dropped off as there was nothing else to be done. He was almost grateful that Kahrag allowed him to retreat to the far side of the bed, where he had no physical contact with the Klingon. It was almost like privacy and freedom and Chekov reveled in it as he dozed off on his first night on the Klingon homeworld.

***

"Ow! Klingon, no! I'm too sore!" Chekov yowled on his first morning in his new home.

Kahrag merely grunted, shifted his cock to between Chekov's thighs and continued humping. Not being a complete barbarian, the Klingon reached around to stroke the Human to a climax with him.

"You might at least let me wake up, damn you!" Chekov snarled in the weird combination of rage and arousal he'd found himself in every morning since his captivity. He finally just let his body, the parts he was in control of, go limp so Kahrag could finish. Struggling seemed to prolong the Klingon's enjoyment.

Kahrag came quickly and Chekov squirmed away from the grateful lips on his neck. The Russian was busy fighting down his own post-climactic rush and was in no mood to be thanked for something he didn't want to do in the first place.

"Come," the Klingon said after a moment more of happy nuzzling. He rose from the bed and then held out a hand for the lieutenant.

Chekov decided to rise under his own power.

"In here," Kahrag directed, opening a door.

There were three doorways off the right side of main room. The last one, at the far end of the house, led to the kitchen, which Chekov had already visited. This door opened onto the bath. It was as big as the kitchen. There were no windows, but the ceiling was made of an translucent material that looked like a sort of marbled glass. Sunken into the flagstone floor was a huge tub. Next to the shower stall was what looked to be a small sauna.

"More impressive than the accommodations on a warship, is it not?" the Klingon asked as he set the controls on the shower. "These Academics lead a soft life. But a true warrior can endure anything... even luxury."

"Aren't you going to bathe?" the navigator asked when he was directed inside the stall.

"I may," Kahrag replied, then grinned. "Or I may choose to revel in the scent of you on my skin all day."

Chekov decided he'd much rather take a shower than participate in a conversation of that tenor. He was surprised, after the extravagance of the rest of the features of the bathroom, that the shower was sonic -- kjsizhti wave, they called it. Perhaps it was to be used when efficiency was paramount, or in case of a water shortage...

'Why do I care?' the lieutenant asked himself. He knew the answer. Anything was better than contemplating his current condition. True, he had been upgraded from slave to hostage. But that change probably wasn't going to help him for months or perhaps even years to come. It certainly hadn't helped him last night...

Chekov took in a deep breath and leaned against the back wall of the enclosure as the prickly waves ran up and down his body. He felt caught in their grip, as helpless as he had been in the hands of....

'Don't be stupid,' he advised himself harshly, wiping his eyes. 'It's done now. No sense crying over it. He was careful not to hurt me. He will continue to be. Those are his orders. This is something I can survive. And after all, it's nothing I haven't done before...'

And yet it was. He'd never felt disturbed by sex before. He'd never felt guilty or ashamed of enjoying it. He wished he'd thought of a way to put up more resistance. If only he hadn't consented after what seemed to him now as only a token struggle... If only the Klingon weren't so damnably adept... If only Kahrag's touch were less gentle, less skilled....

Chekov stopped, surprised that he'd thought of the Klingon by name and disgusted that he was beginning to become aroused.

The shower deactivated and he stepped out. His captor had exited. There were garments laying on the counter that he presumed were for him. From the size, they were the Klingon's leftovers. Reasoning that this was better than nothing, the lieutenant donned them, rolling up an ample cuff on the pants legs and sleeves of the plain gray pullover shirt. He looked at the length of cording provided, decided it was too short to hang himself with, and used it as a belt instead. Next to where the clothes had been was a row of bottles, some with colored liquid inside.

The navigator was investigating these when the Klingon reappeared at the door. The gunner was dressed only in his uniform pants. "Making yourself fresh and beautiful for me?"

"What are these?" Chekov asked, indicating the bottles.

"Many things." Kahrag took the bottle the lieutenant was holding and replaced it. "Unguents, oils, even perfumes and powders. You remember what this is, don't you?"

The navigator looked away from jar of lubricant, the Klingon opened and held out to him. "Yes," he said quickly. "Are you going to give me anything to eat or am I to starve?"

"Patience," his captor cautioned, taking him by the elbow. "It is time for you to learn your way around this dwelling."

Chekov looked up as he was ushered back into the main room. Shutters in the ceiling had been pulled back to reveal that the roof of this room was also equipped with a generous system of skylights. Therefore, despite the fact that the few windows were high and narrow, the room was lit with a golden glow. The walls, like the exterior, were made of rust colored stone.

"These.." Kahrag pointed at the walls and the gray tiled floor. "... absorb heat thus conserving resources."

The navigator nodded, noting that in several spots the floor was covered by large richly colored rugs.

"On cold days, you will roll these away," the Klingon instructed, picking up a small one, "to maximize the effect. You will be schooled in how to clean these later."

Chekov crossed his arms, but kept any dubious retorts to himself.

"These," Kahrag indicated one of the five tall display shelf units built into the walls of the main room, "contain mementos of my voyages."

The bottom part of the units were taken up by drawer space, but the top part of each was translucent. Inside were displayed an eclectic collection of memorabilia -- statuettes, pottery, artworks, weavings, attractive or unusual pieces of stone, crystal, coral, and other unidentifiable substances.

"It will be your task to clean these daily," the Klingon said. "So that I may better...."

"That's my..." Chekov came to a dead stop in front of one case. "That's my uniform."

"No," Kahrag assured him. "Only one similar."

The lieutenant looked again. The artfully displayed tunic did lack braid on the sleeve.

"Yours I saved for the wall of my office," the Klingon informed him with a smile. Ignoring his captive's silent fuming, he continued. "You will also see to the upkeep of these." He waved a hand at the six expansive but thinly padded chairs scattered about the room, seeming to include the table as well. "And, of course, you will see to it that the bed has fresh coverings."

Chekov frowned at that piece of furniture. The bed stood against the back wall. Its mattress was high and wide. Although it was not separated from the rest of the room by a wall, it did have curtains that could be drawn around it for a degree of privacy.

The Klingon gave his backside a familiar pat. "That should be necessary quite often. This is the food preparation area," he said leading the navigator into that room.

Chekov glanced over the counters, cabinets and the collection of pots and pans that hung from the ceiling. "I've been here."

"When?"

"Yesterday." The lieutenant noted for the first time that this room had a bank of windows that looked out into a large courtyard behind the house. "Your guests had me make them tea."

Kahrag fell silent as the navigator noted the progress of a pair of non-Klingons slaves across the plaza.

"Did either of them touch you?"

Chekov looked at his captor, tempted to lie.

As if reading that thought, Kahrag's hand shot out and clutched the lieutenant's throat in an iron grasp. "Answer."

"Yes," Chekov said as distinctly as he was able.

The Klingon's grip eased somewhat. "Fortunately I can count on your outward frigidity as another might count on a mate's sworn fidelity. Therefore I know you did nothing to encourage any advance. What was done? Did both of them assault you? Weigh your words before you answer, Human. Lives may be lost for them."

"One of them tried to kiss me," the lieutenant answered, deciding the truth would be wisest. "And might have done more if his companion hadn't stopped him."

"Which one?"

Chekov tried to recall the unfamiliar names. "The tall one."

Kahrag released him and stood staring out the window for a moment, seeming to pay no attention to the scene outside.

"What will you do?"

"These are not matters for your concern, my prize." The Klingon poured Chekov a large cup of water and indicated for his captive to down it. "Suffice it to say, I have been crossed -- not merely in this small affront, but also in the matter of your being declared hostage. Knowledge of your connection to the devil Kirk should not have made its way to such a high level so quickly... if at all."

The lieutenant remembered that one of the Klingons from the night before had been introduced to him as an expert on the captain of the Enterprise.

"I have been crossed," Kahrag repeated. "And no man may cross me."

"What will you do?"

"Nothing rash." The Klingon patted the navigator's face reassuringly. "Nothing to jeopardize my immediate pleasure. But all will fall even in the end."

"Can't I have real food?" the lieutenant protested when Kahrag drew a hypo out of one cabinet.

"After my supply of these is depleted," the Klingon replied, applying it to his neck. He, himself grabbed a piece of fruit out of a bowl as he ushered the navigator back into the main room. "Here is where I keep my uniform. Each morning, you will lay it out for me. You will not, however, touch any of my weapons which are kept in these drawers -- locked. You will sweep the floor and clean the hearth if there is a fire..."

Chekov crossed his arms. "And if I don't?"

"I have been giving that matter some thought." Kahrag opened the back door and beckoned the lieutenant forward.

Behind the dwelling was a small enclosed space. It seemed to be part greenhouse part verandah. There were several fruit bearing plants and vines as well as a wide comfortable bench to sit on. Chekov could see through the clear glass that each of the houses around them and across from them was similarly equipped. Between the two rows of one story dwellings was a common area. This was the plaza he'd seen from the kitchen. Klingons and their servants could been seen occupied in various household tasks or en route to elsewhere.

"I hold your life in my hands," Kahrag was saying. "That should be enough to guarantee your obedience. But it would be inconvenient for me to be forced to kill you each time you wash a platter improperly. Therefore, after much deliberation, I have decided this. If you disobey me or neglect the duties I assign, I will take you there -- to the middle of the square. I will then bare your delicious backside and paddle you while all the instructors and their slaves and any lucky cadets who wander by are free to witness your disgrace."

Chekov turned and stared at his captor in disbelief. "You must be joking."

Kahrag shook his head. "A hostage must conform to the rules of the house in which he is kept. In my house, the rule is simple -- you must obey me in all matters."

"But... surely..." His alarm caused the navigator to stammer over his words. "It... it... wouldn't be permissible... for you to..."

The Klingon shrugged. "It is a light punishment for disobedience. All could see that you were not being damaged permanently. It is fortunate for us both that shame touches you so deeply and therefore can be used as an effective deterrent in the place of physical force."

The lieutenant was momentarily too shocked and outraged to speak. "You wouldn't dare," he said upon regaining his tongue.

Not one to resist such a challenge, Kahrag grabbed his captive around the waist and lifted him from his feet. "I see you require a demonstration," he said tucking the struggling Human under one arm and heading for the open door.

"No!" Chekov grabbed onto the doorframe. "No!"

"Do you believe I am in earnest?"

When one of his hands slipped, the navigator twisted and sought to supplement his grip with toes.

"Do you?" Kahrag repeated, pulling his captive a few inches further through the doorway.

"Yes!"

"Do you promise to obey me in all things?"

"Good morning, Master Gunner." The approach of a tall youth dressed in green and white interrupted them.

"Good morning, Geshas." Kahrag easily hoisted his captive, pulling him free from his grip on the doorframe. The Klingon carried the lieutenant balanced on one hip as he opened the verandah to admit the newcomer. "Your master has lent you to me for the day. This is Chekov. He is the new addition to my household. Say hello to Geshas."

"Put me down," the lieutenant requested, feeling a hot blush creep up his cheeks.

"Do you promise to obey me in all things?"

"Put me down."

The Klingon's grip on him didn't loosen. "Do you promise to obey me in all things?"

Chekov gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"Is this the one you sought for so long?" the youth asked politely as the Human was set on his feet before his captor.

"Yes. It is he." Kahrag kept a firm grip on the navigator's shoulders. He now used it to steer the navigator back into the dwelling. "You will no longer have to care for my plants in my absence."

"It is always my pleasure to do so, Master Gunner," the slave replied agreeably, following them inside.

"Here is a list of the household duties my Human has been assigned." The Klingon took a pad from a table by his bedside and handed it to Geshas. "I wish you to instruct him in the proper method of completing each one."

The youth studied the list. Geshas didn't seem to be a member of any particular race. He had a round, nearly Terran face with Klingon coloring and brow ridges. From beneath his curly brown hair peeked the tips of Romulan or Vulcanoid ears. He was dressed in the same sort of garment that Chekov had worn upon his arrival. Unlike the shapeless sack the navigator had been given, Geshas' garment was tailored carefully to suit his form and covered by a hip-length, fitted green overlay covered with rich embroideries.

Kahrag had pulled on a black tunic and vest. He tossed another reader to the slave. "I also require that he spend at least three hours studying this text on Klingonese. Although you speak the language abominably yourself, you may be able to help him with these early lessons."

Geshas only smiled at this disparagement. "Yes, Master Gunner."

The Klingon was pulling on his boots. "I have marked a passage that he must memorize and be prepared to recite for me upon my return this afternoon."

Chekov averted his eyes when Kahrag's gaze fell on him.

"Need I reiterate what the consequences will be if any of my orders are not carried out?" the Klingon asked, pulling on black gloves.

Biting his lips against replies he'd rather give, the navigator shook his head.

"Good." Kahrag opened the drawer where he kept his weapons and began to don them. "Geshas, you may take him next door to your master's house for part of the day, if you wish. But he is not permitted to venture further. Do not let him out of your sight. Also, I expect that we may have visitors again today. I have summoned a tailor. Should he or anyone else arrive unexpectedly in my absence..." The Klingon slid a knife firmly into its sheath. "Excuse yourself immediately and summon me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master Gunner," the slave repeated respectfully.

"Very well." Kahrag paused briefly to kiss Chekov on the top of his head en route to the door. "Be diligent, my prize," he advised exiting.

"Well." Geshas put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. "I suppose we should start with the bed."

The navigator grimaced at the very obvious stains on the dark colored sheets.

"No need to get embarrassed," the slave advised, tossing the pillows aside. "Your master seems to be ...impressed with you. That's a good thing."

"He's not my master," Chekov replied, reluctantly helping strip the coverings. "I'm a hostage, not a slave."

"Well, good for you," Geshas returned pleasantly, "but while you're here, you don't need to be stuck-up about it. It's not like you'll be spending any less time with your buttocks spread than the rest of us." The slave took a final look at the stained sheets before dumping them in a bin. "Not any less time at all."

The lieutenant was too taken aback by the blunt truthfulness of this statement to think of a reply.

"At least you're lucky to wind up with Kahrag," Geshas said, sighing as he took a clean set out of a drawer.

"I don't think so."

The slave looked at him seeming a bit surprised. "Then you're a fool," he said, unfurling a sheet.

"Why?" Chekov asked sourly, as he caught his side.

"Kahrag is very intelligent and accomplished," Geshas answered, his tone taking on a certain warmth. "He is considerate and well spoken. And he is... and he is reputed to be as skilled in bed as he is in battle."

Chekov raised an eyebrow at this slip. "*Reputed* to be?"

The slave frowned, started to speak, stopped, frowned again, and then sighed. "I suppose I might as well tell you. If we become friends and you find out later, you may be angry."

"About what?"

"I have some... first hand knowledge of the gunner's skills." Geshas glanced guiltily at the bed. "My master is old and is growing... unreliable at sex. Kahrag listened patiently to my complaints and... provided me with some relief from my frustration."

Chekov mulled this new input over carefully.

"He is a most considerate individual." The slave tucked a corner of the sheet in place with tender care. "And very skilled."

The navigator found it hard to reconcile Geshas' romantic image of the gunner with his own impressions of his captor. He'd never stopped to think what it would be like to sleep with Kahrag by choice rather than compulsion. It would be quite different to eagerly seek the Klingon's strong embrace and forceful thrusts.... Deciding this line of thinking was turning unproductive, Chekov cleared his throat and returned to making his half of the wide bed.

"You aren't angry, are you?" Geshas asked, trying to hide any anxiety.

"No. Of course not."

"My master would have me whipped to death if he ever found out," the slave admitted.

Chekov returned a large pillow to its place. "I would not betray your confidence."

"Good." Geshas smiled as he threw an embroidered cover over the bed. "Then it looks like we may be friends after all."

***

"So, were you attentive to your lessons?" was the first thing Kahrag asked after Geshas had been dismissed upon his return that afternoon. "If we have guests tonight, will you be able to converse with them in Klingonese?"

Chekov shrugged. "Yes, if they want to know the names of various objects about the room and are interested in if those items are near or far, or large or small, good or bad. I could also talk about color and quantity if we didn't stray beyond primary colors or numbers over a hundred."

"You are progressing." Kahrag crossed to the cabinet by his bed and removed his weapons. "Did you memorize the piece I assigned you?"

Chekov nodded, holding his ground in the middle of the main room, a decorous distance from the bed.

The Klingon walked to one of the wide-bottomed chairs and settled himself in it comfortably. "Recite for me, my prize."

The navigator made a face. "It's very stupid."

"Recite!"

After pausing to sigh to himself, Chekov began, pronouncing the unwieldy Klingon words slowly and carefully, "Behold Gorak. Gorak is a warrior. He likes to run and play. Run and play, Gorak! This is Gorak's knife. Gorak likes to hunt the wily targ. Run, targ, run! Hunt skillfully, Gorak! Run and hunt the mighty targ!"

Kahrag nodded critically. "Your pronunciation is somewhat eccentric, but the sound of it is most charming to me. Do you understand the meaning of the words?"

"Yes." Chekov decided that there was nothing preventing him from sitting down instead of standing like a servant. "It is a very basic narrative about a young boy, who, despite the fact he seems to be only six or seven years old in the pictures that accompanied the text, is considered a warrior. He seems to enjoy running and playing quite a bit. Playing, for him, includes killing an intelligent pig-like animal."

"Very good. " Kahrag stretched to reach a nearby cabinet. From it he took a bottle and a glass. "All things must begin somewhere," he said encouragingly, pouring his captive a generous measure as reward. "You will advance to more suitable material quickly."

Finding the gesture to be refreshingly free of insult or sexual innuendo, Chekov accepted the drink and sipped it tentatively. He doubted that he'd live long enough to acquire a taste for llarth, but it was pleasantly potent.

"What did you think of Geshas?" Kahrag asked after taking a long swig from his bottle. "Did he tire your small ears with his chatter?"

"He does talk a good deal," the navigator had to agree. "But he seems to be quite honest."

"He is truthful to a fault."

"He said you had sex with him."

Kahrag froze for a moment, then released a long breath. "As I said, he can be truthful to his own detriment. He did tell you that this was not something to be repeated? That he would be severely punished if his master were to hear of it?"

"And you would be in trouble too?" The lieutenant enjoyed feeling some measure of power over his captor.

Kahrag shrugged. "Kalosh is old. I don't believe him capable of exacting too terrible a revenge. Besides, it was but a single incident -- which happened under circumstances of which you know nothing."

Chekov frowned at this cavalier attitude. "Isn't it dishonorable to violate someone else's property?"

The Klingon blinked at him, then began to smile. "Jealousy becomes you, my prize."

"I am not jealous," the navigator replied coldly. "I am merely concerned that you do not seem to uphold the very traditions that you have said my safety depends on."

"I see I shall have to mend my wandering ways," Kahrag continued in a light tone, as he leaned across the arm of his chair to return his bottle to the cabinet. "Oh, where is the life which late I lead, eh?"

"You can sleep with dead farm animals for all I..." Although his statement began with some heat, it trailed off to nothing as Chekov watched the Klingon run a finger along the narrow ledge separating the enclosed bottom of the cabinet from the glassed-in top.

Dusty residue showed up quite clearly on the bronze finger Kahrag held up for the lieutenant's inspection. "Did I not command you to see to the cleaning of this?"

"I must have missed that one," Chekov said, trying to sound casual despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. He quickly put aside the glass and rose. "I will see to it now."

Kahrag's hand on his wrist stopped him. "Do you test me, my prize?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. "Do you strive to see how many small disobediences I will overlook?"

"I wasn't... I didn't..." Chekov wasn't having any luck in trying to free his wrist. "It was merely an oversight."

"Ah, so you feel you deserve a punishment for carelessness instead..."

Chekov didn't know what the penalty for carelessness was but was not anxious to find out. "Really, Klingon," he said, trying to be reasonable. "This is unnecessary..."

"Perhaps so. It is a minor transgression and easily forgotten if I am put in the proper frame of mind. Kiss me," the Klingon offered generously, "and all will be mended."

Chekov swallowed hard, but did not resist as he was pulled slowly into the Klingon's lap. Sitting on those powerful thighs and enclosed in those well-muscled arms, the navigator felt very small and helpless. He closed his eyes as his head was tilted back and Kahrag's lips pressed against his. Knowing he wasn't going to be let off that quickly or easily, he didn't struggle as the Klingon guided the lieutenant's arms to clasp around his captor's neck and returned for a second embrace. This kiss was deep and probing. Despite the Klingon's strange taste, his tongue was quite proficient at locating and teasing sensitive areas inside the Human's mouth. As little as he liked to, Chekov had to concede that Kahrag's skills at the art of seduction were formidable. The navigator pulled back as he began to feel himself become aroused.

The Klingon didn't allow him to go far. "There," he said, holding his captive tight. "All's well that ends well -- Though, now you now know how easily a punishment can be averted, I fear I may never see you labor diligently again."

Chekov tried to remove his hands from around the Klingon's neck.

"Shhh." His captor stilled him. "I must confess that I too have neglected a duty. It was my intent to examine you this morning. I wished to make certain that you were not damaged by my pleasures of the night before."

The navigator shifted uncomfortably in the Klingon's grip.

Kahrag chuckled. "How your body tightens at the mere thought of me inside you. I wonder if the memory of our love making has held you in the same lovely torment that I've suffered today?"

Chekov tried once more to pull his hands from around the Klingon's neck. He was allowed to get only as far as the gunner's broad shoulders.

"No bleeding?" Kahrag asked.

The navigator avoided his eyes and shook his head.

"Some soreness?"

His captive dropped his head and nodded.

"Does it linger still?"

Another nod.

"Oh, my delicate little creature..." Kahrag kissed Chekov's temple tenderly. "How careful I must be with you... It is most fortunate that such gentleness serves to prolong our pleasure... Come. You have a final task in which to be instructed today. I will now school you in the proper method of welcoming a warrior to his dwelling..." He rose, lifting Chekov in his arms, and headed for the bed. He was half way there when the doorbell sounded. "Ah, the tailor," Kahrag growled, setting Chekov on his feet. "He's only five hours late."

Chekov slumped in relief that his lesson was postponed. With luck, perhaps the Klingon would forget all about it. He shook himself, realizing how ridiculous that hope was.

It was the tailor and his assistant. They were, however, right behind Captain Korzra.

"Good evening, Kahrag," the captain said pleasantly as he sauntered past the gunner. He nodded urbanely at Chekov, who was rooted on the spot.

"Captain Korzra," Kahrag began but paused to wave the tailor and his assistant to Chekov, whom they began to measure in great detail. "You save me a trip to your office tomorrow."

"Really? I merely brought you and your *house guest* some Msizra wine. Kboexi assures me it's safe for Human consumption," Korzra held out a bottle to Kahrag.

Kahrag was suddenly on the horns of a dilemma. If he accepted the gift in his own home, he was obliged to offer Korzra the safety and hospitality of said home. If he refused the gift, he was formally challenging Korzra in redress of an insult, which Kahrag, unsure how serious Korzra's overture had been the previous day, was not ready to do. Deciding he'd rather postpone the challenge, Kahrag accepted the bottle and offered Korzra a chair. He was letting the wine breathe when Kboexi arrived.

"Kboexi." Korzra rose in greeting. "What brings you here this evening?"

"Same as you, Captain," Kboexi growled and turned to Kahrag. "I've just come to see how you're getting on with your Human, Kahrag."

"Or getting off with him," Korzra observed wryly.

A very tense silence clamped down on the room. The tailors were working extra hard to ignore it and Chekov dearly wished he'd studied Klingonese at the Academy instead of Andorian.

"I understand you made unwelcome advances to my concubine, Korzra," Kahrag said, low and dangerously.

"As a matter of fact I did, Kahrag," Korzra said cheerfully. "I tried to steal a kiss and got rebuffed for my efforts."

It seemed to Chekov that the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. He found Kboexi studying him with unreadable eyes.

"And even though I'd still like to steal a kiss from your Human," Korzra continued conversationally, "I've decided to control myself. That's why I'm here, Kahrag, to apologize to you for my rashness and swear on my honor that I shall hold your concubine's chastity sacred and defend it as I would that of a concubine of my own household."

Kahrag let a moment of silence go by while he mulled over this pledge. "Then you shall always be welcome in this house, Captain," he said at last.

Chekov felt an audible sigh go through the tailors. He could not know that battling Klingons in enclosed spaces usually do more damage to the innocent bystanders than each other.

"Can I have some wine?" Kboexi asked irritably, turning his attention from Chekov to the Klingon warriors.

Kahrag poured for all three of them.

"Now, of course," Korzra said pleasantly, "if you wanted to lend me your concubine for the weekend, I'd be much obliged." He smiled charmingly.

"I think not, Captain. If you will excuse me for a moment," Kahrag said coolly and turned to the designs the tailor held out to him.

"Did you really come here to apologize?" Kboexi murmured.

"No, but it seemed like a good idea when I got here," Korzra murmured back. "I'd rather not kill as fine an officer as Kahrag over a bedwarmer, however charming, just now. Or be killed by him for the same reason," he added wryly.

"If you two are stupid enough to come to blows over your highly misguided and impulsive action in Kahrag's kitchen," Kboexi fixed him with a steely look, "then you deserve to kill each other and I could care less." He turned to watch Kahrag choose fabrics in colors Kboexi wouldn't dress up a corpse in. 'But I am not dressing this pretty little Human,' he thought coolly, 'or undressing him.'

Kahrag's taste ran toward simply cut long sleeved tunics and trousers that were tight enough to show off Chekov's finer points without being too revealing. He choose six designs to be cut from a heavy silk linen called cotilk for daywear and six more from a Ouzronian silk for evenings. The colors were deep magentas, amethysts, teals, cobalts and chestnuts. Klingon dyers were probably the most skilled in the galaxy. Each color seemed to have depths that deceived, as well as soothed, the eye. Some of the fabrics were dyed in subtle patterns that were only visible from certain angles in certain lights. Chekov would be quite chic as well as a joy to behold. He ordered two pairs of soft boots (one fur lined, the other not) as well. Had Korzra and Kboexi not been present, Kahrag might have chosen a few silky and frivolous garments for bedwear but he was not in the mood to amuse these Klingons any further. "Human," he growled in Klingonese and beckoned, "come join us."

Understanding the gesture more than the words, Chekov sat on the edge of the chair Kahrag waved him into. He accepted a glass of wine and found it delicious.

"Do you like the wine, Human?" Korzra asked slowly. "Is it good?"

Chekov glanced at Kahrag, who nodded. "Yes," he answered carefully in his oddly accented Klingonese, "it's very good."

"Well done, Human," Korzra beamed at him, "you shall have another bottle for that."

Chekov looked at Kahrag for guidance. The Klingon nodded his approval and lowered his eyes. Chekov nodded graciously and lowered his eyes. This seemed to satisfy Korzra, who launched into another subject with Kahrag. Chekov looked up and found Kboexi's eyes on him. He held the Klingon's gaze until he realized it was imprudent to do so and lowered his own. He listened to the Klingons, catching a word here and there, and sipped his wine until it was gone. Kahrag refilled his glass and parceled out the remainder of the bottle.

"Why were you waiting for me here yesterday?" Kahrag asked Korzra without preamble.

"To look after your prize while you talked to the admiral," Korzra informed him. "Me, I'm just a prize minder when ordered to be so from high enough up."

"But how did you know he'd be with me?" Kahrag asked. "And how did Admiral Krnivi know who this Human was?"

Korzra cleared his throat. "Your captain has much faith in you, Kahrag. He had a bet with the admiral that you would succeed in regaining the prize you lost in that skirmish with the Federation ship."

"Admiral Krnivi bet against me?" Kahrag asked.

"The admiral," Korzra began diplomatically, "might decorate you for valor, courage and honor but he would never believe you'd be lucky or cunning enough to steal this beauty off Kirk's bridge."

Hearing Kirk's name, Chekov suppressed a start and kept his eyes lowered.

Kahrag grunted noncommittally, not sure he believed this too pat story. He decided against asking Kboexi how he knew about Chekov. It could wait until tomorrow, right now he was more interested in going to bed. With Chekov. "Shall I open another bottle?" he asked, politely hoping they would say no.

"Not for me, thank you," Korzra responded, with equal politeness, perfectly willing to stay for more wine if Kboexi choose to do so. Kboexi's family just slightly outranked his so the 'shall we continue the evening or not' decisions were subtly deferred to him.

"Nor for me, thank you for your hospitality, Kahrag," Kboexi rapped out by rote and rose. "It's late."

"And I'm sure you want to go to bed," Korzra needlessly supplied, stood as well.

A good host, Kahrag rose to see his guests to the door. Chekov would have stood up too but the Klingon's hand on his shoulder forestalled him. He sat, decoratively, while Kahrag saw the Klingons out.

Kahrag was tired; half of the energy he might have used making love to Chekov had just gone into being hospitable. He needed a nap but decided a bath would revive him. A bath with Chekov would be reviving, if not inspirational. He strode into the bathroom and ran the taps a little hotter than he preferred in deference to Chekov's higher body temperature. "Come here, Human," he called, pouring some mineral salts into the steaming water.

Chekov rose a trifle unsteady - the wine was strong and had gone to his head a little - and trudged toward his master's voice. 'He is NOT my master,' he reminded himself. 'He is my captor.'

Kahrag wasted few motions in pulling Chekov out of his borrowed clothes and ushering him into the bath. He stripped and joined him there.

"Did you enjoy your evening, my prize?" Kahrag soaped a sponge and reached for Chekov.

"The wine was very good," Chekov allowed, resisting a little.

"Do you like water baths?" the Klingon asked conversationally, pulling Chekov between his legs and pressing his erection against the Human's lower back.

"Yes, but I prefer them alone." Chekov tried to squirm away.

"Oh, yes; like that; don't stop," Kahrag breathed in his ear.

Chekov immediately went very still and surrendered to the Klingon's ministrations.

"Much better to wash you when you hold still, Human." Kahrag bent to kiss his shoulder. "You have the most beautiful skin..."

Carefully soaping each arm the Klingon worked his way to Chekov's finely muscled chest and downward. He grunted in satisfaction as his hands brushed Chekov's incipient erection but he ignored it for the moment. He pushed Chekov forward and ran the sponge briskly over the navigator's supple back. "Turn around," he commanded.

Taking the opportunity to put as much distance as the tub allowed between them, Chekov turned and put his back against the opposite side.

Kahrag did not pursue him, he merely took hold of an ankle and dragged the lieutenant toward him. Tucking a calf under each arm, he leisurely soaped the Human's groin and thighs. Releasing him, Kahrag allowed the blushing Human to retreat to the far side of the tub again. The Klingon lifted a foot and ran the sponge over it and its calf. Noticing a rough spot, he reached for a stone and smoothed it. He repeated the same procedure with the other foot. "You were very pretty tonight, my prize," Kahrag observed, massaging and examining Chekov's instep. "Kboexi was openly admiring you." Pulling Chekov toward him, Kahrag raised the lieutenant's foot to his mouth and began to leisurely suck each toe.

Chekov had never had anyone put his toes into their mouth in his life, let alone find all the sensitive, shivery places on them with their tongue. He was off balance from the wine already and this was sending icy fingers up and down his spine. He shuddered and swallowed to regain his composure. "What of it?" he asked brusquely.

"That you were pretty?" Kahrag asked, nuzzling his arch, "or that Kboexi was admiring you?"

"Either," Chekov snapped, trying to ignore the gentle nips on the sensitive flesh just below the ball of his foot.

"Ummm," Kahrag murmured, dropping one foot and picking up its mate to examine it. "Kboexi is obsessed with the devil Kirk ..."

"He is not a devil!" Fighting down his arousal, Chekov rose to his captain's defense.

"If you say so, my prize," Kahrag soothed, closing his lips around Chekov's little toe. He let his teeth fall gently shut until the Human twitched in pain, arousal or irritation. Methodical, he moved on to the next toe.

"Why is he obsessed with Captain Kirk?" Chekov asked, hoping conversation would get this fucking Klingon off his toes.

It did for a moment. "No one knows," Kahrag informed him and moved on to the next toe.

Chekov bore this as stoically as he could. "Who is he?" he asked, trying to distract Kahrag from his foot, "who are both of them?"

"Captain Korzra," Kahrag said around Chekov's second toe, "has command of a Bird of Prey. He spends most of his time gathering information on the Federation, mainly Starfleet." Kahrag paused to devour the Human's big toe. "I understand he is quite good at it," he observed when Chekov succeeded in extricating his toe. "Kboexi is a mystery," the Klingon observed seriously, stroking Chekov's arch and heel. "He's not a member of the fleet but has access to everyone and everything." Kahrag played Chekov's foot over his hard nipples. "He's a member of the Imperial family, a cousin of some kind..." the Klingon dragged the Human foot onto his belly, "but close enough to the Emperor to have access, influence and power." Taking a firm hold on Chekov's foot, Kahrag began to stroke his arching cock with it.

Stunned into stillness, Chekov met the Klingon's languid, hooded eyes and began to struggle in earnest.

"Now, now, my prize," Kahrag murmured, drawing Chekov astride his lap, "have I kept you from my arms too long?" he asked tenderly, grinding the Human's groin into his formidable erection.

Chekov felt as if he'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire. He stopped struggling. "Klingon, let me go."

Kahrag, grazing delicately on his earlobe, ignored him. He tightened his arms slightly and one hand strayed between Chekov's buttocks in gentle exploration.

Chekov jumped at the contact. "...oh, please don't," he whispered distinctly into the Klingon's ear, "I'm very sore... Kahrag, stop!" He relaxed as the Klingon removed his hand and drew back to look at him.

"You've never called me by name before," Kahrag observed in a pleased and sultry voice.

"I was trying to get your attention," Chekov shot back.

"You have, my prize, you have." The Klingon reached between them to stroke them together. "You have my complete... and undivided... attention," he panted, getting closer.

Firmly held, aroused and trying not to participate, Chekov's squirming turned to writhing in the Klingon's lap. Trying to hold back, the navigator bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut as he came. Kahrag buried his face in the white flesh of Chekov's neck and pumped his cum onto the white flesh of Chekov's belly. They leaned against each other - panting, spent and soggy.

Chekov recovered first and pulled away. He snatched up the sponge and wiped the Klingon's semen off him. He started to stand but Kahrag hauled him back down onto his chest. "The water is chilly," Chekov half lied. The water had cooled off but he was more interested in getting away from the Klingon.

Kahrag grunted in grudging agreement and hauled them both to standing. He pulled a towel from the rack and considered forcing Chekov to dry him but decided it was more struggle than he was up for just then. Instead, he tenderly dried the impatient Human. "Are you late for my bed, Human?" he asked with emphasis. Chekov was still and Kahrag finished drying him. "Go get in bed," Kahrag ordered, sending him off with a pat on the backside.

Chekov moved out of the bathroom with alacrity but slowed down as he approached the bed. He could hear Kahrag moving about the bathroom; emptying the tub, turning off the lights. Chekov was still dawdling across the room when the Klingon emerged with a bottle in his hands.

"Into bed, Human, quickly," he prompted.

"I would prefer to sleep on the couch," Chekov said firmly.

Kahrag looked down at him sleepily. "It's not too late to get a crowd in the courtyard to watch me beat you, Human. And the fresh air and exercise would wake me sufficiently to make me want to fuck you very hard for a very long time tonight."

Chekov shook with indignation and fought back tears of rage. He spun on his heel and flung himself into the bed, moving as far away from Kahrag as possible. He watched Kahrag, nude, moving about the room, turning off the lights, checking that the door was locked, gathering up the wine glasses. Chekov was uncomfortably reminded of other lovers battening down for the night in a similar fashion. It all seemed long ago and very far away. Chekov was also disturbed by the fact that in these low lights, Kahrag's body was less repulsive than it had been a few days ago. Or seemed less repulsive.... 'Perhaps I'm losing my mind,' he thought wildly, 'or I've just had too much wine...' Chekov was so lost in his abstraction he didn't notice the Klingon until he was practically on top of him. He started at Kahrag's touch.

"Human?" Kahrag inquired tenderly, stroking Chekov's silky arm.

Chekov moved slightly away. "What is that?" he asked, gesturing to the bottle in Kahrag's hands.

"A lotion to keep your skin soft, my prize," Kahrag told him, smoothing the creamy liquid onto his palms and urging Chekov onto his stomach. "The homeworld climate is hard on delicate flesh like yours." He began to massage the lotion into Chekov's back and shoulders in long soothing strokes.

Chekov mentally cursed the Klingon's gentle touch and tensed his muscles against it. He twitched irritably as Kahrag caressed the lotion onto his ass and was relieved when the Klingon did not take any further liberties.

Quickly finishing with the Human's thighs, Kahrag rolled Chekov over. He applied the moisturizer to his arms, chest, thighs, calves and lingered voluptuously on each foot.

Chekov stared at the canopy and pretended to ignore it. He felt his cock begin to begin to stir and managed to suppress it by thinking of very old nuns. He was glad that Kahrag stopped molesting his feet when he did: there is only so much thinking of very old nuns a healthy twenty-four year old male can reasonably do.

Kahrag capped the bottle, put it on the bedside table and turned out the lights. He spooned up behind Chekov, who tensed predictably, and nuzzled his captive's white neck. He was pleased to feel the Human relax and go to sleep. Tired, Kahrag dropped off soon after with his cock pressed against Chekov's ass.

***

"Wake up, my prize," Kahrag murmured the next morning as he climbed on top of Chekov. For a change of pace, he rolled the Human onto his back and was humping his cock against Chekov's belly.

"God damn you, Klingon!" Chekov snarled sleepily, "get off me."

Kahrag ignored him and reached between them to arrange Chekov's erection into a better angle for the fiction of the Klingon's thrusts. He took a moment to slam the struggling lieutenant down and continued his undulations. He buried his face in Chekov's warm, fragrant neck, which, in addition to being pleasant, protected his eyes from attack. Pinning the Human's arms to his sides, Kahrag ran his hands downward to squeeze his lovely ass.

Chekov left off struggling too late. He was aroused past the point of no return and was soon panting against the Klingon's massive shoulder and trying not to come. In vain, Kahrag's skillful manipulations brought him off in a shuddering, back arching climax.

Feeling the Human come on his belly, Kahrag let himself come too. He lay on Chekov, murmuring his thanks to him, the universe, his cock, the fates, god, and whatever else occurred to him in his ecstatic haze. It was a great way to start the day.

"GET. OFF. ME!" Chekov yelled in his ear.

Kahrag rolled off, shaking his head. He smiled smugly down at Chekov. "Good morning, my prize. You did ask me to wake you, didn't you?"

Chekov closed his eyes and rolled away, jerking the blankets over his head.

"If you are in a foul mood, I could permit you to rest," the Klingon suggested magnanimously.

"Go to hell."

"You are in a foul mood," Kahrag decided, rising from the bed.

Chekov put a pillow over his head to drown out what seemed like the extraordinarily loud sounds of the Klingon rustling through drawers then heading off to bang things in the bathroom. He'd almost managed to drop off to sleep again when Kahrag returned to slam and rustle mercilessly once more.

The navigator thought of the little bit of Klingonese Geshas had been able to help him with the previous day. "Targ fucker," he mumbled.

"Did you speak, my prize?"

"Yes." Chekov took the pillow off his head but did not roll over. "I called you a 'targ fucker'," he repeated pronouncing his new Klingon vocabulary words slowly and clearly.

"Hmph." The sound Kahrag made could have been annoyance or amusement. Chekov didn't care enough to distinguish. "Who taught you this term?"

"My babysitter."

"Hmph." The noise edged closer to amusement. "I would not use it if you truly intend to offend," Kahrag advised. "It is a childish curse at best and with your pronunciation it sounds...." To the lieutenant's disappointment, his captor began to chuckle. "Say it for me again, my sweet."

"Oh, fuck you," Chekov said, reverting to good old Standard as he put the pillow back over his head.

Kahrag proceeded to find more items to bang and slam. This time he was even more annoying, since he would periodically burst into low chuckles and say "targ fucker" to himself trying to mimic the navigator's accent. From the smells issuing from the direction of the kitchen, the Klingon seemed to be making himself breakfast. Chekov's stomach protested impotently at this affront. The lieutenant was glad he had nothing to throw up.

"Are you ill, my Human?" Kahrag called.

"No," Chekov replied with the pillow still over his head. "Leave me alone."

Of course, this was now the last thing the Klingon was going to do. The bed sagged with his weight as he sat down beside the lieutenant. Chekov sighed and remained passive as his captor firmly removed the pillow and rolled him over.

After looking in the navigator's eyes and mouth and feeling his throat, Kahrag speculated, "Perhaps you should not have drunk Korzra's wine."

Chekov silently awarded him the blatantly obvious discovery of the month award. "If you gave me solid food," he explained irritably, "I probably wouldn't have gotten drunk and I definitely would not have a hangover like this. Food helps absorb the alcohol."

Kahrag frowned. "Could you not inform me of this last night?"

The lieutenant sighed and reached for his pillow. "I didn't think of it last night. Just let me sleep."

"Do you require medicine?"

Chekov put the pillow over his head. "I require sleep... and perhaps some black coffee, later."

"Very well." The bed rocked mercilessly as the Klingon got up.

The lieutenant rolled over on his side and tried to doze as Kahrag banged and knocked about. He found he had succeeded more than he'd thought when he awoke with a start at the feel of the Klingon's hand on his leg.

"Rest well, my prize," Kahrag said, patting his thigh fondly. "I will seek advice on Human 'hangovers' and will return with a cure for you at midday."

"Fine," the navigator mumbled.

Much to his relief, the Klingon left. The door slammed closed behind him.

"Targ fucker," the lieutenant grumbled to himself, turning over onto his pillow.

***

Chekov awoke some time later to a distinctly coffee-like smell. He felt restored enough by his nap to investigate. Entering the kitchen he found the smell was emanating from a squat kettle placed on one of the counters. Beside the kettle were three glasses of water, a cup, and a hypo - presumably of nutrient supplement. Whatever was brewing in the squat little pot smelled rich and spicy, vaguely cinnamon-ish.

'And probably tastes like warmed over dung,' Chekov decided uncharitably.

The kettle was equipped with its own heating unit. The navigator deactivated it. He gave himself a shot from the hypo and then set to work drinking the three glasses of water. Water, he knew, was very good for hangovers. It just didn't *feel* as good as coffee.

He cast a longing eye at the kettle.

'It couldn't hurt,' he concluded with a shrug and poured himself a cup.

After blowing the warm liquid cool, he tried a tiny sip. It had an odd taste -- completely unlike coffee. But then again, not really that bad. The second sip was better. Interesting. He could have sworn it had cinnamon in it. He had a large sip to check. Yes, definitely cinnamon or something very like it. Where would Klingons get cinnamon? He took a leisurely swallow. How could they make something this good and make such rotten tea?

He was in the midst of deciding to have a second cup, when the kettle began to whistle and boil. Chekov abruptly realized that instead of deactivating the unit, he'd misjudged the control panel and set it on high. Moving hastily to press the correct button, his elbow knocked against the cup he'd set down.

Almost in slow motion, the cup rocked on its base, twirling gracefully as it made a swan-dive to the floor.

Chekov stared at the broken pieces stupidly. "Oh, God," he breathed, feeling suddenly sickeningly sober. "He's going to get me for this."

It was an accident, his mind argued back. He can't beat you for an accident.

'Oh, yes, he can,' the navigator assured himself as he found a kitchen sponge to mop the spilled coffee. 'This is insane. I should not have to live in this sort of fear. It was an accident. There was nothing I could do. There's no "don't break cups" rule.'

He collected the broken pieces, fighting an illogical urge to hide them. 'That would only guarantee I'd be caught,' he thought, but paused nonetheless before the disposal unit. He looked the pieces over. 'Perhaps I could glue it back together.'

Although that sort of thing hadn't worked out for him very well when he was seven years old, Chekov stowed the pieces in an inconspicuous spot in a low cabinet. He decided he needed time to think about this.

The thought of the broken cup haunted the navigator all during his shower. He emerged with no ideas on how to extricate himself from this potentially disastrous situation. He pulled on the clothes that had been stripped from him the previous day and decided that cleaning the tub wouldn't make situation worse for him. The same reasoning prompted him to change the sheets on the bed, dust the display cabinets, polish the furniture, and wash the dishes from the previous night. He was in the midst of sweeping the floor for good measure when Kahrag arrived.

"Good day, my prize."

In the midst of swallowing the heart that had jumped uneasily into his throat, Chekov noticed that Kahrag had not arrived alone.

"You remember the tailor and his assistant?" the Klingon said, ushering them in. "And our guest from last night."

Kboexi smiled enigmatically as he crossed the threshold.

"Can you properly greet our visitors?" Kahrag asked, taking the sweeper from him and placing it in the corner.

Chekov swallowed and squared his shoulders, knowing that looking guilty was going to give him away quickly. "Greetings, warriors," he said in Klingonese.

"I'm not a warrior," the tailor corrected anxiously as he and his assistant began to unpack a box of completed and half completed garments. "I never claimed to be a warrior."

Chekov squinted at him. "What?"

"It's not correct to indiscriminately hail all Klingons as warriors," Kahrag said, coming to stand behind his charge. Chekov repressed the urge to flinch as those powerful hands came to rest on his shoulders. "For instance, the Vixharth Kboexi should be addressed as your grace."

Kboexi waved a dismissive hand as he found a comfortable seat. "The honorific isn't necessary."

"I think it is," Kahrag contradicted. "He is a mere hostage here and nothing more than a junior officer in his previous career. I do not wish for him to forget that he is dealing with a member of the nobility."

Kboexi smiled a non-smile. "I wouldn't think a simple soldier like yourself would have any concern with such upper class niceties."

"I am a simple soldier," Kahrag replied. "But I do not wish to do anything that may lead you to think that I discount the range and scope of your influence and power."

Despite the fact the exchange between them was carried out in Standard, Chekov felt that it literally and figuratively went on over his head.

The tailor and his assistant brought pieces of cloth and began to hold them up to the navigator for size. "Excuse me, sir," the anemic looking Klingon said as he attempted to come between Kahrag and his captive.

The gunner stepped back. "Ask my charge a question, tailor," he commanded.

The smaller man blinked at him.

"Ask a question, tailor," Kahrag repeated.

The tailor looked at Chekov dubiously, obviously thinking that this was not in his job description. "How are you?"

Since he didn't know the Klingon words for '"suicidally depressed," Chekov settled for, "I am fine."

"And now you, thimble," Kahrag ordered, giving the tailor's assistant a thump.

The young Klingon looked panicked. "How do you like your new master?" he blurted out.

A silence fell on the room long enough for everyone to realize this was the wrong question to ask and that Chekov didn't have the vocabulary to answer honestly. After briefly checking the gunner's face, the lieutenant decided to stick with, "I am fine."

"Well done." Kboexi applauded.

"Do you have a garment ready for him to try on?" Kahrag asked the tailor.

"Yes, sir."

"I will assist him." The gunner snatched the material from him and headed for the bathroom with the navigator in tow. He sighed heavily as the doors closed behind him. "Alone for over a year, then when I crave privacy, I have a constant procession of visitors."

Chekov, who could think of nothing but broken cups, remained silent as he shouldered out of the gray shirt.

The sight of the navigator's bare chest seemed to cheer the gunner. "I am somewhat disappointed to see you so recovered, my prize. I heard a most novel cure for hangovers."

Chekov paused before undoing the cord holding his pants up. "Oral sex?" he guessed.

"Then it is effective?"

"No," the lieutenant replied, suppressing any knowledge he had to the contrary. "Pure myth."

"Mmmm." The Klingon seemed disappointed, but was able to console himself by enjoying the view as his charge changed into the fitted black pants. "I have arranged to have an advanced student take my drill classes tomorrow. We can enjoy the day together undisturbed."

"Oh, lovely," Chekov said unenthusiastically as he slipped a soft bronze colored tunic over his head.

Kahrag stepped forward and help pull it to his arms and waist. "The rub is this, Kboexi has offered to tutor you in Klingonese... starting this afternoon."

Chekov could tell from the gunner's face that this was not considered good news.

"I cannot forbid him because he is a noble and that limits my grounds for outright refusal." Kahrag's discontent caused him to fasten the closure in front of the tunic a little snugly. "And he insists he cannot come tonight or tomorrow when I am here because he has pressing business."

Chekov remained impassive, but was inwardly quite relieved for the Klingon to have something other than broken cups to worry about today.

"You must behave very properly, very deferentially," Kahrag instructed, taking him by the chin. "Remain a respectful distance apart. Don't stare into his eyes. Don't look.... so... beautiful as you do now."

The Klingon pulled him into a hot embrace, his mouth claiming the lieutenant's hungrily.

"Perhaps a quick hangover cure before we return, eh?" he suggested, letting his captive finally come up for air.

"Completely ineffective," the navigator assured him, ducking out of his arms and heading quickly for the door. "A total fabrication."

"Charming," Kboexi commented on the lieutenant's new apparel upon their return, "in a... rustic manner."

"The pants are too tight in the seat," Chekov reported in Standard, then looked to Kahrag to translate for him.

"The fit of the pants is perfect," the gunner said to the tailor in Klingonese, taking an appreciative glance at the rear view of the navigator. "Make the rest to these standards and you will be well paid."

"Thank you, sir." The tailor appreciatively accepted the two glittering chips Kahrag handed him. "The bulk of your order will be ready tomorrow."

"I will come get them," the gunner said, showing them to the door.

"We deliver for no charge," the tailor protested as he and his assistant hurriedly collected their goods.

"Make no deliveries tomorrow," Kahrag warned pleasantly, herding them out. "Or you will not be paid at all."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"And now, my prize," he said when finally rid of them, "it is time for your lesson."

The gunner beckoned Chekov to a chair facing Kboexi's, but far out of range.

"Be attentive to your tutor," he instructed, guiding the navigator to sitting with a large possessive hand on each of his shoulders, "and respectful. I entrust him to you, Vixharth Kboexi."

"I fully appreciate your degree of trust, Special Forces Sub-Commander Kahrag," Kboexi drawled ironically.

Kahrag made no verbal reply, but Chekov didn't think it was a headache that made the closing of the door sound particularly loud this time.

"A bit clutchy, isn't he?" Kboexi commented.

Chekov gave a polite half-laugh without any conviction behind it. Now that he was alone with this stranger, he realized that he, too, might have something to worry about other than a broken cup.

"We should start. I gather you are studying from a text?"

"Yes. I will get it..." Chekov puzzled over the title a moment. "...Your Highness."

Kboexi scowled. "It's 'your grace', if we're going to be particular about such things -- A Vixharthi is roughly equivalent to a Dukedom. But since it's cumbersome and crassly ostentatious, let's leave it off entirely, shall we?"

A Duke. As he crossed to fetch the reader, Chekov turned the title over in his mind. Duke fitted this Klingon well in the lieutenant's opinion. He could even pass for a slightly mad Russian Duke straight from the pages of a novel with very few alterations. Kboexi was smaller and more pale skinned than either Korzra or the nearly gigantic Kahrag. He was, ironically, about Captain Kirk's size. His hair and goatee were very dark and his eyes were arrestingly light-colored.

"I am afraid that my host prefers I do not, your grace," Chekov said apologetically, handing him the reader.

Kboexi's piercing gaze followed him to his seat. "Well," he said pleasantly. "I will not tempt you to disobey him."

Chekov felt himself flinch at the word disobey.

The Klingon seemed to note it too. "I hope the sub-commander is treating you well?"

Chekov shrugged politely.

"*Is* he treating you well?" Kboexi persisted.

"If being abducted and sexually molested is good treatment," the lieutenant replied, feeling a flare of anger, "then, yes, I am being treated very, very well."

"Does he coerce you?"

"Yes."

"With force?"

"...with threats."

"Ah." The Vixharth shook his head. "Barbaric, however, you are wise not to resist. I understand Kahrag in action is quite lethal."

Chekov filed that fact away and cleared his throat. "We should begin."

"Your grace?" Kboexi prompted with a smile.

The navigator sighed. "Whatever."

"What a very old book," the Klingon said, paging through the reader. "I wonder if Kahrag couldn't afford better or is somehow partial to this particular edition?"

"He likes old things."

"Does he?"

After he'd made the assertion, Chekov realized he didn't have much evidence to back it up. "He likes to read Shakespeare."

"Yes. I remember that fad. Very popular with the military class a few years ago -- despite the fact we were at war with Terrans at the time. Rather perverse to love the poet and hate the people, isn't it? But that's part of the nature of the Klingon heart -- Perversity."

This didn't seem to the navigator to be a profitable line of discussion to pursue.

"I've made you uncomfortable," Kboexi said, with a disappointed sigh. "And I truly intended not to do so."

"It's..." Chekov compressed his dissatisfaction into one expansive shrug. "My situation here is less than ideal."

The Klingon sat back and considered for a moment. "You seem particularly troubled by something."

The navigator bit his lip. It was very tempting to trust this slightly mad Duke. Something about his intensity made him seem harmless. "Is it permissible to inflict corporal punishment on a hostage?" Chekov asked, deciding that soliciting general information would be safe.

Kboexi looked shocked. "He beats you?"

"He has threatened... a certain humiliation if I disobey him... to be inflicted publicly."

It took the Vixharth a moment to decode this. His lips twitched slightly during the moment more it took him to consider the image conjured. "That would be rather declasse," he pronounced at last, "But since the good sub-commander is the primitive type, I doubt that would bother him."

"Would it be legal?"

Kboexi laughed. "This is the Klingon homeworld, not Terra. If law is your only recourse... Well, you'd be much better off simply to avoid disobeying him."

Chekov sighed unhappily.

"But you've disobeyed him already?" the Klingon guessed.

"I broke a cup while he was away this morning," the lieutenant confessed, feeling foolish.

"Accidentally?"

Chekov nodded.

"He won't punish you for that," Kboexi scoffed. "Just throw it away. He'll never know the difference."

The lieutenant nodded again, wishing he could believe the assurance.

"Come now." The Klingon paged through the reader. "Let's see if we can't take your mind off this nonsense. What linguistic treat do you have in store today? Declining verbs. Oh, joy. And what's this? A passage is highlighted... Behold Khraost. Khraost is visiting the capitol city..."

"Kahrag chooses a passage for me to memorize and recite to him each day," Chekov explained.

Kboexi's pale eyes lit up. "Now there's an idea," he said, reaching for Kahrag's pile of readers. "Let's see if we can't find something to make our amorous sub-commander forget about broken cups..."

***

"Being your slave," Chekov recited in Klingonese, "what should I do but tend

"Upon the hours and times of your desire?"

He was reluctantly seated on Kahrag's lap. The Klingon had been extremely 'clutchy' upon his return to the dwelling and had not allowed the navigator to stray out of his reach even after Kboexi had departed.

A smile crept across the gunner's features and he tightened his embrace around the navigator's shoulders and nodded for him to continue.

Chekov sighed. "I have no precious time at all to spend,

"Nor services to do till you require,

"Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

"Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

"Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

"When you have bid your servant once adieu.

"Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

"Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

"But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught

"Save where you are how happy you make those.

"So true a fool is love that in your will,

"Though you do anything, he thinks no ill."

Kahrag remained appreciatively silent for a moment after the lieutenant concluded. "A very pretty piece," he whispered leaning in close to reward his captive with a kiss on the cheek.

"Kboexi chose it," Chekov informed him in his most unromantic tone.

Undeterred, the Klingon traced a caressing circle on Chekov's thigh with one hand. "Do you know what these words mean?"

"No," the navigator replied flatly. What little Chekov could translate, he didn't like, but the Vixharth had been adamant in his selection.

"I am pleased by it nonetheless," Kahrag murmured against his neck. "Perhaps I will have you recite it every day until you can understand it in full."

Chekov wriggled uncomfortably. "Can I get up now, please?"

The Klingon gently grasped the navigator's nose between a large thumb and forefinger. "If I had been as sharp-tongued as you were this morning," he said, playfully tugging it, "and had forgotten to lay out my uniform as is your assignment, then I think I would not be so anxious to spoil my good mood."

In his panic over the broken cup, Chekov realized that he'd completely discounted these equally punishable offenses. He looked into his captor's eyes warily. This was a mistake. He found himself caught like a deer in headlights by the burning intensity of the Klingon's gaze.

"Give me the kiss you owe me," Kahrag demanded in a falsely reasonable tone, taking advantage of his captive's momentarily dazed state to position the navigator's hands on his shoulders.

Chekov wasn't aware that his mouth had fallen open until the Klingon's tongue pushed past it. The Klingon claimed his mouth with an astonishing hunger, as if he meant to consume the navigator's very soul.

The lieutenant reflected that Kboexi had been right to call Kahrag a primitive. None of his experiences with his "civilized" lovers had prepared Chekov for the helpless, melting sensation he got when he was held like this-- supported by huge, muscled thighs and enfolded in powerful arms, completely controlled and possessed. None of his previous lovers could match Kahrag for raw, uncontrolled passion either. There was something dangerously intoxicating about the Klingon in this mood, something that tempted one to abandon oneself and enjoy such an overwhelming assault of pure desire.

His lips were swollen and throbbing from the pressure when Kahrag finally withdrew.

"I love the sound of your voice, my beautiful one," the Klingon breathed into his ear. "I desire to hear you say one more word." He named a Klingonese term.

When Chekov hesitated, Kahrag put an unequivocal hand between the navigator's legs.

"Speak!"

"Master!" the lieutenant gasped in Klingonese.

The Klingon growled with pleasure. "Do you know what it means, my prize?" he asked huskily.

"No," Chekov lied before surrendering himself to those all-consuming lips once more. He let his mind go blank as Kahrag rose and carried him to the bed. He let his body go limp as the Klingon removed his elegant new clothes.

"My Human," Kahrag breathed prayerfully, running his hand over the Russian's chest. "How very lovely you are." He rose and stripped quickly. Pulling Chekov into his arms, the Klingon breathed in the Human's intoxicating scent and stroked the silken flesh of his back.

Chekov did not resist but he did not participate. 'You are not participating, aiding or actively involved in this in any way, shape or form,' he firmly reminded himself. His one regret was his erection seemed to be making a liar out of him, even to himself. 'What's wrong with me?' he sighed in his mind. 'What's wrong with my cock?' he clarified to himself. He winced as Kahrag's fingertips caressed his perineum.

The Klingon withdrew his hand. "Are you still sore, Human?"

"Yes," Chekov was about ninety-nine percent recovered but didn't feel this should concern his captor.

His captor looked dubious but said nothing. "Are you still feeling poorly?"

"Yes," Chekov said firmly. He was feeling poorly; Kahrag's slimy erection on his stomach was making him queasy. Or so he was very much trying to believe it was.

Kahrag sighed and kissed Chekov's forehead. "Very well," he said softly and got up. He went into the bathroom and ran a very cold tub for himself. He stayed in it until his cock was a mere shadow of it's former self and sex was no longer his first priority.

Chekov had sat up and taken notice of the Klingon's departure. He was listening to the water run and trying to figure out what was going to happen next. Nothing happened next. He waited. The room was cool so he slipped under the covers. Eventually Kahrag returned and looked down at him.

"Sleep well, my prize," he growled and waved his fingers over a panel on the bedtable. The curtains drew around the bed, shutting out the room and the Klingon. He immediately began to worry if Kahrag was angry. But the Klingon had not seemed angry, he'd seemed, well, concerned and...

"Go to sleep, Human." Chekov heard through the drapes and decided it was good advice. He made himself comfortable and drifted off.

Kahrag settled himself into a chair and picked up a reader. He read some poetry, an article on the latest ground troop weapons and the synopsis of the new play at the Imperial theater before he judged that Chekov was asleep. He sat a moment longer contemplating the gentleness and consideration this Human's fragility inspired in him. It was a pleasant feeling and he paused to enjoy it. He rose quietly and put out the lights. The bed curtains drew back silently and he looked down at Chekov sleeping peacefully. Kahrag quietly slipped into the bed without disturbing the sleeper and dozed off over his erotic plans for the next day.

***

Chekov was dreaming of home. It was one of his favorite dreams. He was laying on his back, naked, in a grassy field. The sun was warm but cool breezes played gently over various parts of his body. He was alone in this field, far from anyone who might see his cock stirring under a soft breeze.

The lieutenant undulated gently under the Klingon's quiet caress. Kahrag withdrew when it seemed Chekov might be close to waking. He leaned back and watched the Human float back into a deeper slumber before caressing him again.

Chekov always knew he was near waking when, in his dream, he knew his cock couldn't get any harder. In this dream, he never looked down at it, but he knew that his cock was pointing straight up and glowing with health and vitality in the sun. This was usually where Chekov woke enough to reach down and stroke himself to climax without exactly waking up. He had a moment of sleepy confusion because he knew he was not caressing his penis and yet it was in a firm and decisive grasp. Realization and orgasm struck at the same moment. Chekov found himself arching in ecstasy and lashing out at Kahrag in fury at the same time. It was an astonishing way to wake up.

"Good morning, my prize," Kahrag said cheerfully. He was hard but could wait. Realizing the advantage of having Chekov climax while he remained in control, the Klingon was wisely playing it to the hilt. "You are so lovely in the morning," he rose, dragging the still panting Chekov out bed with him.

"Where are we going?" Chekov asked, still discombobulated from his solo performance.

"To bathe," the Klingon said pleasantly, "you need it." He scooped a dollop of cum off Chekov's heaving chest and sucked it off his fingers.

Chekov winced but allowed himself to be herded into the tub. The water was cooler than he preferred but he was glad of the temperature under these circumstances.

Kahrag slipped in to the tub next to him and soaped up a sponge. He was brisk, thorough and even washed Chekov's hair.

It occurred to the Human, as he was being vigorously toweled dry, that he'd at least escaped being molested in the bath. And hopefully Kahrag would be leaving very soon... Chekov reached for his new clothes that Kahrag had tossed about the bed last night.

"Don't get dressed," the Klingon ordered, toweling his own hair dry.

"Why not?" Chekov asked warily.

"We're spending the day in bed," he was informed.

"I thought you had somewhere to go today," the lieutenant said hopefully.

"No, I took the day off to spend it with you, my prize."

"Kahrag," Chekov said firmly, trying another tack, "I need to get out and get more exercise than I do here..."

"You will get plenty of exercise today, my prize," Kahrag leered. "Don't get dressed. Or do; it's always pleasant to undress you." He passed his hand over the skylight control and the room began to fill up with whitely golden light. He smiled at the Human and strolled past him into the kitchen.

Chekov decided that if he were passive whatever was going to happen would be over quicker. He looked out the window as he steeled himself not to enjoy anything. A distinct cinnamon-ish coffee like smell began to waft out of the kitchen. 'I might enjoy that,' he thought, 'just a little...'

Kahrag came out of the kitchen and handed him a cup. "Get back in bed," he said briskly.

"And if I don't," Chekov challenged for the sake of form.

"The cadets will be marched from the drill fields to the classrooms in about five minutes," Kahrag growled, "and you are dressed perfectly for an appearance," he concluded looking as serious as a phaser barrage.

Deciding the Klingon was serious, Chekov stepped back and casually sipped his coffee stuff as he dawdled toward the bed. "What is this I'm drinking?" he asked coolly.

"Ahmrasine," Kahrag called as he fetched his cup of Klingon tea.

"Is it a Klingon drink?" Chekov said, making conversation, trying to stall.

"No. It's from one of our colonies," Kahrag put his cup by the bed. "Chekov," he said reasonably, "get in this bed now."

Chekov sighed and rolled his eyes. It was disturbing to hear his name in Kahrag's mouth, it was too normal somehow. He squared his shoulders and got into the bed but stayed on the tiny strip of mattress farthest from the Klingon.

Kahrag decided to call this a victory and damped down his impatience. He reminded himself that they had all day and all night ahead of them. This thought made his cock stir but he was able to ignore it until Chekov had finished most of his ahmrasine.

Chekov was trying to make his ahmrasine last as long as possible but all things end eventually. He held onto his cup until the Klingon gently removed it from his hands.

Kahrag had a great deal of patience as well as finesse. He drew Chekov to him with one hand, gently nibbling on the Humans fingers while drawing him closer to his arms. Eventually he slid his arms around the tense Human's waist and kissed his shoulder and neck. Working slowly, he gentled Chekov into a long, sweet kiss that seemed to contain all the longing Kahrag had done for his prize since losing him.

Chekov was left breathless by the kiss and could not meet the Klingon's eye. He was relieved that Kahrag did not press him further, instead the Klingon played his lips down to the lieutenant's hardening nipples and teased them into aching peaks.

This was all very strange for the Russian; more so because it was the first time Kahrag had made love to him in broad daylight. There was something extra arousing in watching the Klingon molest him in the cool morning light. He'd always liked mornings; there was something so hopeful about them. And yet, here he was, pinned under his captor and though his mind was fighting the good fight, his body was in full collaboration. 'Damn,' he thought, less annoyed than aroused and annoyed by that, too. Somehow Chekov found it easier to submit in the dark. At least the Klingon couldn't see him struggling against his own pleasure. He was still irritably mulling this over when Kahrag looked up from nuzzling his navel.

"What are you thinking about, Human?" he asked tenderly, puzzled by Chekov's frown.

"I want to go home," the navigator said with heartbreaking simplicity.

Kahrag studied his captive's face for a moment and sighed indulgently. "This is your home, Chekov," he bent to kiss the Human's hip and stroke his cock, "this is where you belong now." He leaned the small distance to swirl his tongue around the head of the Russian's penis.

Chekov drew a sharp breath but managed to sigh, "it is not," before the Klingon clamped his lips on him. He closed his eyes and held very still. It made no difference; Kahrag was an expert. He set up a maddening rhythm on Chekov's erection. Just when the navigator thought he wouldn't last another moment, the Klingon went very still and then very slowly drew his lips up and off his cock. Chekov opened his eyes and found Kahrag studying him.

The Klingon dropped his eyes and ran his index finger from the base of Chekov's cock to the pearl of moisture on the tip. With great ceremony he brought his finger to his mouth and licked the pre-cum off it.

Chekov swallowed hard, trying not to react to any of this.

Kahrag, not touching him, lay down beside the navigator.

"You are not content," he murmured, bringing Chekov's hand to his lips.

"Of course not," Chekov snapped, snatching his hand away.

"And yet I have been very patient, gentle and generous with you, my prize, and you are still not content," Kahrag observed, caressing the Human's belly.

"I am a prisoner, I am far from home, I am molested..." Chekov began to enumerate but was cut short by his own gasp as the Klingon gently squeezed the head of his penis.

"You," Kahrag said menacingly, "are a very spoiled little pet, Chekov. Were you to contrast the suffering of others to your own situation..."

"That's just it, Kahrag," Chekov broke in, "I'm a prisoner here, I should be suffering. It's degrading to me as a officer to be coddled and toyed with like a... a..."

"Spoiled pet?" the Klingon offered helpfully when Chekov trailed off.

Chekov sighed sadly and looked away. "You cannot understand, Klingon," he said softly, "to be imprisoned thus. At least there is virtue in suffering..."

Kahrag placed a finger beneath Chekov's chin and turned the Russian's eyes to back to him. "But you are suffering, my prize," he said tenderly, "it's very obvious that you are not enjoying any of this of your own free will." He kissed Chekov's cheek and reached across him for the lubricant. "You are showing very good sense in co-operating in this situation. As a warrior, I understand there is no dishonor in death but wouldn't it be unpleasant to be spend the rest of your captivity in a brothel where anyone with the price may have you, or blinded, or without an arm or the use of your legs?" he paused to let that sink in, "and then to be returned to your people in such a condition... How much better to survive to the best of your ability? Why would your people cultivate your intelligence as well as beauty if only to have you throw it away at the first sign of hardship?" The Klingon kissed the horrified Human's shoulder and nuzzled his way down to his shrunken cock. He swiftly and skillfully restored it to full hardness and gently began to work his middle finger into his captive.

"I'm still sore, Klingon," Chekov lied, protesting hopefully.

Kahrag kissed the rosy head of the Russian's penis. "I find that difficult to believe, Human, but if it is true then you must bear a little discomfort on my behalf," he murmured urbanely before sucking both of Chekov's balls into his mouth.

Trying to ignore the prospect of what Kahrag was preparing him for as two, then three, fingers stretched him, he tried, in vain, not to thrash as the Klingon caressed him from inside. He closed his eyes as Kahrag draped his ankles over his massive shoulders and rolled him forward. He turned away as the Klingon centered his cock... and paused.

"Open your eyes," Kahrag breathed in a voice that brooked no argument.

Chekov opened his eyes but kept them lowered and staring vacantly at some point, off to the left and in the middle distance.

"Look at me," Kahrag ordered.

Chekov obeyed, he felt crushed by the intensity of the Klingon's gaze.

"Yes, Chekov," Kahrag sighed, "I want to watch you not enjoying me inside you, as is your duty as a captive officer." He pressed the head of his cock past the lieutenant's slippery ring and paused for the Human to adjust. "Because only a spoiled pet would enjoy this," Kahrag panted, slowly letting his cock slide all the way in, pausing to rub the head against Chekov's prostate when he got there. Gently back and forth, until the navigator tilted his hips ever so slightly to encourage the Klingon to get on with it.

Chekov held his captor's eyes and tried to keep his breathing calm. He did all right for the first few thrusts but something gave way when Kahrag slightly changed his angle. The Russian tried to keep his eyes bland, as if not annoyed by it all, but that was impossible as with every long, even thrust, Kahrag's cock massaged his prostate. Try as he might not to, Chekov found himself tilting, if not thrusting, up to meet the Klingon's powerful strokes. He felt close and hoped, with some desperation, that if he came Kahrag would lose interest... somehow.

As if reading his mind, the Klingon slid all the way in and stayed very still. He held Chekov's eyes as if daring him to become more or less aroused. He leaned down and played a long, complex kiss over the navigator's firmly closed lips until they opened to him. Pumping softly, Kahrag breathed Klingonese syllables into Chekov's ear. He drew back and lengthened his strokes. Mindful of his partner's pleasure, he reached between them and began to stroke Chekov in the same rhythm.

It was too much for the Human, for any Human. 'No, no,' Chekov sighed in his mind but managed to suppress most of his ecstatic groan.

Hearing it and feeling the Human clenching around him, Kahrag thrust all the way in and let himself climax. Baring his teeth, he threw his head back with a cry that had struck terror in the hearts of his enemies on the battlefield. Shuddering convulsively in ecstasy as his cock pulsed inside the Human, he let his battle cry trail off into helpless keening as he collapsed onto Chekov's heaving chest. He could have died at that moment a very happy Klingon. He settled for blacking out.

Lying beneath a thousand pounds of spent Klingon, Chekov tried to think of something other than that. He played back Kahrag's threats and wondered how this idiot could be concerned with his captive's contentment. He wondered if this qualified as rape because he didn't fight. He did not know. He wondered whom on the Enterprise he could ask. Again, he did not know. He pushed away the unfamiliar Klingon words that were panted into his ear. To no avail, he began to puzzle over them. He listened to the Klingon's labored breathing. He wondered if he would be sore tomorrow and was disappointed to think he would not be - the Klingon had prepared him and fucked him too carefully. 'I'll be physically ready for more of this right away and he knows it,' he thought in despair. He fought back hopeless tears by pounding on the back of Kahrag's head with his fist. "Get up, Klingon, you're fucking heavy," he snarled with more bravado than he felt.

Kahrag propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Chekov affectionately. "I am," he admitted, gently withdrawing from the Human's body. "There," he said, planting a kiss on Chekov's nose, "you're free."

Chekov squirmed out from under him and went into the bathroom. He stepped into the still filled but really cold tub and reveled in its bracing temperature. He washed the Klingon off his skin. He activated a bathing attachment and washed the Klingon out of his body. There was nothing he could do about what was inside his head.

Kahrag did not pursue him, merely growled for Chekov to bring a damp towel and a dry towel.

Chekov toweled off, emptied the tub and did as he was told. He was relieved that Kahrag did not expect him to clean the Klingon off, merely to dispose of the towels once Kahrag had finished his ablutions. He was ordered to bring the little amber bottle from the bathroom counter and come back to bed. Feeling depressed, Chekov did as he was told.

Kahrag folded him into his arms and kissed him gently. "There, my prize, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked tenderly and then commanded him to roll over.

"Why?" Chekov asked wearily but complied.

"I merely wish to rub some of this lotion into your skin," the Klingon said, doing so. "It will make you nice and soft and perhaps you will relax a little," he mused, working at one of the knots in Chekov's shoulders.

Chekov relaxed under Kahrag's skillful touch in spite of himself. 'Oh, whatever,' he thought as he allowed the Klingon to make him feel good. He kept his face blank as Kahrag rolled him onto his back and massaged the tension from his thighs. 'As long as he doesn't know I'm enjoying it...'

"I'm sorry this is *so* awful for you, my prize," Kahrag murmured with mock sympathy and his smugness barely concealed. "I will try to finish this torment as quickly as possible." Doing so, he put the lotion aside and uncapped the amber bottle. He applied a small amount of fragrant oil to his fingertips and smoothed it into the hollows of Chekov's throat, on his wrists and behind his knees.

'I am now a perfumed whore,' the navigator thought drowsily, trying to place the cloying scent and falling asleep before he could.

Kahrag drew the fragrant, sleeping Human into his arms and decided a little nap would do him good. He dropped off breathing the subtle scent of Zarthenis blossom perfume, which was imported from the same distant colony as the soft leather of Chekov's new boots. But beneath the perfume, he detected Chekov's own musk and found that the most intoxicating scent of all.

***

Chekov knew by whom he was being kissed awake and decided not to wake up. At least not completely, he squirmed sleepily away from the Klingon's lips, hoping that would discourage him. Ha; Kahrag simply descended to the Human's neck as had been his intention anyway.

Caressing slowly down this most desired flesh, Kahrag was happier than he could ever remember. He was not fooled by Chekov's sleepy passivity; the Klingon knew he'd won a major battle today and he was relishing his victory. Brushing his hair out of his way, he slid his mouth farther south to relish the Human's half aroused cock as well.

Feeling something odd on his thighs, Chekov looked down through lowered lashes at Kahrag sucking him. The Klingon's long black hair had come undone and was fanned about his massive shoulders and Chekov's thighs like a mantilla. Chekov found himself aroused as well as mesmerized by this sight: the Klingon's tender intensity and powerful tongue held him suspended in spite of himself. The spell was intensified when Kahrag's fingertips gently brushed his anus but Chekov broke free of it when he felt the Klingon's tongue on his perineum. "Stop that," he commanded, kicking at the Klingon.

"As you wish, Human," Kahrag assented cheerfully, rolling Chekov on his stomach. He bent to plant gentle kisses on the navigator's lower back and caress his ass.

Chekov squirmed against the tickling hair brushing against his back. "Wait, Kahrag," he snapped as the Klingon spread his buttocks and moved forward, "I'm not ready."

"Yes, my prize," was cooed at him as cool lube was slipped inside him. The Klingon spent a few moments stretching him. Satisfied that he was ready, Kahrag repositioned himself between Chekov's legs.

"I'm too sore," Chekov said, trying to move away.

"I'm afraid you must endure, my dear," Kahrag panted. "Shall I bring you a strap so you can bite off your screams?" he offered uselessly as he pushed the head in.

Chekov winced more in annoyance than in pain as the Klingon entered him. He buried his face in the pillow and tried not to jump as Kahrag stroked his prostate and, reaching beneath him, stroked his cock at the same time.

Kahrag was in something of a hurry and didn't linger overly long fucking Chekov. Brisk, but gentle, he brought them both off fairly quickly. "Thanks," he murmured, kissing Chekov's neck and climbed off the prone Human. He took a shower and went into the kitchen and started banging around.

Chekov took a moment longer to recover. He was not injured, merely drained by his own climax and wondering how energetic Kahrag was going to be that morning, or afternoon rather, he judged from the light. To forestall this thinking, he rolled out of bed and took a shower. It made him feel better having the Klingon and the perfume off his skin. He walked back out into the main room to find Kahrag with his nutrient shot and a plate of some sort of sliced fruit. He bent his neck under the shot and accepted a piece of fruit. It reminded him of a cross between an apple and a pear. "May I get dressed now?" he asked politely.

"No, change the bed coverings and get back in it," the Klingon growled, handing him a glass of water and watching him drink it.

Chekov sighed and did as he was told. He watched Kahrag out of the corner of his eye moving about the room, leafing through readers. He got into the bed and patiently folded his hands in his lap.

"I must take charge of your Klingonese lesson today, Human," Kahrag informed him cheerfully, sliding into the bed next to him. "Recite that delightful piece you learned yesterday," he ordered.

Chekov did so and Kahrag listened enchanted. The Klingon then helped Chekov do a word by word translation which led into a lesson on the first declension of Klingon nouns in the present tense.

'Well, it passes the time,' Chekov consoled himself as he sat making simple but well constructed sentences for the Klingon. Although he should not have been, he was surprised by Kahrag's patience as a teacher and wondered how he was with the cadets in his care.

"Very good, Human, well done," he praised in Klingonese. "Soon you'll be able to seduce me in my own language," he laughed, switching back to Standard. Kahrag slid an arm around his waist.

"I'd like some more water," Chekov said, moving away.

The Klingon graciously let him go and lay back to watch him walk into the kitchen. 'A pretty sight,' he thought, paging though the reader for a passage to teach his Human. He chose a short poem about obedience that he thought might be edifying for Chekov.

Chekov returned and learned the stanzas perfectly. He recited them twice flawlessly and then worked with Kahrag on the translation and analysis.

Sensing something amiss, the Klingon congratulated him on his cleverness but kept his distance. "What's wrong, Human?" he asked after a silence.

"Would those things you threatened me with this morning happen to me here?" Chekov asked seriously.

"No," Kahrag answered truthfully, "not as long as I am able to prevent them."

"And if you did not prevent them?"

"It is possible, yes, terrible things do happen to slaves, prisoner, hostages, whatever on the homeworld," Kahrag mused, wondering what this was about. "But then again, terrible things happen to Klingons on the homeworld. One must be alert and astute at all times, Human. Why are you concerned?"

"I don't wish to think of myself as a coward," he said sadly, "because I submitted so those things did not happen to me."

Kahrag leaned back and studied him for a moment, reminding himself that Chekov had been, and actually still was, a Starfleet officer. "I believe with your temperament, Chekov, you would endure physical suffering better than dishonor," he said softly. "However, submitting to me because it is the sensible thing to do is not especially dishonorable. It is reasonable, rational, sane and logical. Do you want to be beaten and maimed? No, of course not, nor would I in your position. And dishonor, well, betraying your fellow warriors, cowardice, stupidity, ingratitude - those are dishonorable actions and you haven't indulged any of those have you?" He watched Chekov shake his head. "So, I long for your contentment as well as obedience but I will settle for obedience if that is all you are willing to give me." He stroked Chekov's cheek.

"What would you do in my position, Klingon?" Chekov asked quietly.

"I am not pretty enough to be in your position," Kahrag shot back, reaching for him.

"Hypothetically," Chekov said, moving away.

The Klingon sat back and thought about it. "If I were in your position, Human, I would submit. I would ingratiate myself to my master, learn whatever I could and slit his throat at the first opportunity. I would then likely be killed in some extremely painful fashion and it would have accomplished exactly nothing," he looked meaningfully at Chekov, who was wide eyed at this honesty. "But you must remember that I am a Klingon and we are much more suicidal than you Terrans. We revel in death," he said frankly, "however, at just this moment I would prefer to revel in you, my prize. If you have no enthusiasm for it then at least lie still and let me enjoy myself." He pulled Chekov to him and into a demanding kiss.

"Kahrag," Chekov asked, when the Klingon let him come up for air, "could you tie your hair back? It's in my face."

"As you desire it," the Klingon assented. He rose, opened a drawer and drew out a tie and returned to the bed, pulling his hair back.

"Why do you Klingons wear your hair long?" Chekov asked, stalling but curious.

"Are you wasting time or do you want to know?" Kahrag asked drawing him into his arms.

"I want to know," Chekov assured him.

"Only warriors wear their hair long," Kahrag murmured, resting his cheek on Chekov's chest. "You might have noticed that Kboexi and the tailors had short hair. A warrior stops cutting his hair when he has survived his first trial. I survived mine when I was seventeen."

"How old are you now?" Chekov asked.

"In Standard years I am thirty-four," Kahrag said, caressing Chekov's belly.

Chekov did some math. "Then you should have hair down to your feet," he observed.

"Well," Kahrag admitted, "all warriors cut the ends off every few months... Why are you so interested in this?"

"I'm trying to learn all I can about Klingon culture," Chekov shifted slightly away. "Is it only warriors? I noticed Geshas has long hair."

"Purely for decorative reasons," Kahrag brushed Chekov's hair out of his eyes. "I shall let your hair grow long. It will be lovely."

"I shall hate it."

"But you shall humor me, yes?"

Chekov lowered his eyes for an answer. Kahrag took it as an assent and took the lieutenant in his arms.

Chekov let his mind wander over their conversation as Kahrag kissed a trail down to his cock and inhaled it. He tried to punch holes into the Klingon's reasoning and wondered what Spock would make of it. 'What would Spock do in this situation?' Spock in this situation was inconceivable to the navigator. 'Sulu would twist this Klingon around his little finger and take over the place,' he thought, cheered a little. 'And Captain Kirk?' He shuddered in his mind, trying to imagine Kirk with this Klingon, any Klingon. It boggled the mind, it was...

"You are a million light years away," Kahrag scolded, looking up from Chekov's fading erection.

"But my body is here," Chekov said quietly.

"Ummm," the Klingon growled, rolling onto his back, "perhaps you need to be more actively involved." He pulled Chekov astride his hips. "Get on top."

Chekov made a face. "I'm not going to fuck you, Klingon," he protested.

"I don't want you to, Human, I want you on top of my cock," Kahrag snarled good-naturedly and began to slip lubricant into Chekov.

"I hate that," Chekov informed him, squirming in his grasp.

"Are you always on the bottom with your Human lover?" Kahrag asked, putting a generous amount of slippery gel on his cock.

"No... But this is different."

"How so?"

"With the others, I want to be there."

"Well, close your eyes and pretend you're there," Kahrag said, positioning Chekov over his cock. He held the Human in a firm grasp until the subtle rebellion subsided and then gradually withdrew his support so the Human was forced to sink down on his erection.

"This is awkward," Chekov said, supporting his weight on his thighs.

"Quiet," Kahrag growled. "Human, you can descend at your own pace or I can thrust you down on the full length," he warned, squeezing Chekov's waist, "it's up to you."

"Oh, all right," Chekov rolled his eyes, "but just this once."

"Whatever you say, my prize," Kahrag murmured, gently caressing Chekov's erection and balls.

Chekov found this arousing but would never admit it to the Klingon in a million years. He didn't have to, his cock stiffened under Kahrag's touch. 'Like always,' he thought glumly and winced as the Klingon's cockhead popped inside. He watched Kahrag roll his head on the pillow in pleasure as Chekov made his careful descent. When he felt Kahrag's balls under his ass, Chekov took a moment to reiterate his current situation to himself: 'I have been abducted to the Klingon homeworld where am a prisoner and am more or less voluntarily impaled on my captor's penis.' He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else, which was, of course, impossible. Made more so by Kahrag thrusting up to encourage him to get moving. 'Oh, well, if I must do this I might as well enjoy it,' he reasoned at last and began to move in short strokes, massaging his prostate as much as he could. The length and speed of his strokes increased in proportion to his arousal, from the inside and from Kahrag masturbating him. He was whimpering and panting as he came on the Klingon's chest and fell forward into his arms.

Kahrag, still hard inside him, stroked Chekov's back and whispered praise in the Klingonese. "Very good, my prize, well done," he murmured. Taking a firm hold on Chekov, he carefully rolled the Human onto his back. Kahrag gently fucked him until he came in a satisfying but not spectacular orgasm. The Klingon had been more impressed by Chekov's pleasure and hoped that they would come simultaneously next time. This sort of thing required practice, lots of practice. Kahrag pulled out and drew the dozing Human into his arms. He watched the daylight fading and judged this to have been a good day for him. He began to give some serious thought to dinner.

***

Chekov woke alone in the big bed and blushed when he remembered his performance on the Klingon's cock. He was glad the bed curtains were drawn but he wondered where Kahrag was. He lay back down but the need to urinate drove him into the bathroom. While he was there he rinsed off and felt refreshed. 'Sex and a nap will do that,' he thought sarcastically and padded back to bed.

"So you wake, sleeping beauty," Kahrag called pleasantly from the couch. "Come join me here," he patted the seat next to him.

Chekov waved the curtains around the bed open and looked wistfully at it. He trudged over to the Klingon and sat down. "I'm cold," he stated.

Kahrag rose and brought back a robe and draped it around Chekov. It was his robe so it was huge on the Human. He put his arm around Chekov and drew him close. "I have been thinking, Human, it will be difficult to feed you," he said.

"Oh, wonderful, now I am to starve slowly," Chekov snarled.

"Now, now," Kahrag soothed, "I've just received an answer from the Chief Interrogator, do you remember him?" Chekov nodded. "He tells me that you can survive on the nutrient shots, you might be a little thin but healthy." He stroked Chekov's hair. "I will try to find things for you to eat, however, it will be difficult. The food on the homeworld has a high content of arsenic; harmless to Klingons, we like it, but a poison to you Humans."

Chekov remained silent and let this information file into the appropriate memory slots.

"The Chief Interrogator has also advised me not to allow you to swallow any of my bodily fluids," Kahrag continued after a moment.

Reflexively, Chekov jerked away from him. He was jerked back.

"I would think this would be good news, Human," Kahrag snarled, forcing Chekov between his knees. "Although you have a lovely mouth, I must content myself with your hands, my prize." He forced Chekov's hands around his half hard cock. "Pleasure me, Human," he commanded.

Chekov struggled but the Klingon's grip was like iron. Enraged, Chekov wrapped his hands around the spongy flesh and squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to inflict some pain. It had the opposite effect, Kahrag moaned voluptuously and began to jerk the navigator's clenched fists up and down his shaft. Gritting his teeth and damn the consequences, Chekov let his hands go limp.

"You are so difficult," the Klingon sighed, pushing Chekov onto his back and climbing on top of him. Without the slightest regard for the Russian's pleasure, Kahrag humped his cock against Chekov's belly until he came. He rolled off and watched Chekov go into the bathroom. Hearing the water running, he rose to join him. "An excellent idea," he murmured, turning the water temperature down and dragging Chekov into the tub. "The perfect end to the perfect day," he smiled, crushing Chekov to his chest.

Chekov twitched uncomfortably in his grasp.

"You ought to try to please me a little more, Human," Kahrag said quietly.

Chekov raised his eyes in a Klingon maiming look but only got a passionate kiss for his efforts.

"I do so love your spirit, my prize," Kahrag enthused, picking up a sponge, "you are indeed a worthy conquest." He began to soap as much of Chekov as he could reach.

It had been a long, long day for the Russian. He surrendered to the Klingon's ministrations and surrendered to the fact that he was very glad he would not have to suck Kahrag's cock. He had not really thought about it until the Klingon brought it up, but now that he had, Chekov was almost elated by what he would not have to do.

"You are so lovely," Kahrag murmured as he bent to kiss Chekov's squeaky clean neck. He pulled Chekov astride his lap. "Are you sore?" he queried, probing gently between the navigator's buttocks.

"Yes," Chekov squirmed away from the fingers, "very."

"My delicate little darling," Kahrag said, reaching for the Russian's cock. He pumped him to full hard hardness and then pressed his own erection along side Chekov's. "Now, hold very still and try to relax," the Klingon counseled, sliding a soapy finger into the lieutenant. "There; now, that wasn't so bad?" he asked, stroking the hard place behind Chekov's hard penis.

Chekov had gasped at and thrashed on Kahrag's finger. He now found himself being rubbed up and down on the Klingon's erection. 'Well,' he reasoned, 'it's better than getting fucked again.' He squirmed against a second finger and wondered if he *was* going to avoid being fucked again. Biting the bullet, he reached for Kahrag's cock and began to stroke him for all he was worth. His one hope was for the Klingon to come before he could shove his cock into him again.

Kahrag gasped and let his head fall back in pure pleasure. "Yes, yes," he sighed.

"Come for me, Klingon," Chekov snarled, wriggling against now three fingers. He began to jerk the Klingon flesh in earnest.

"Yes, my prize!" Kahrag shouted, pulling Chekov over his cockhead.

Chekov twisted away and rammed his hands up and down with as much force as he could. He felt Kahrag's cock jerk in his hands and directed the jet of semen away from himself. He ignored the Klingon's strangled scream of pleasure and whimpering his name against his neck. Chekov's own erection had receded to manageable levels and he preferred to just forget about at this point. He tried to slip out of Kahrag's arms but the Klingon restrained him.

"I must reward you, my prize," he husked.

"Couldn't we just get some sleep?" Chekov suggested.

"No," Kahrag said, balancing Chekov on the tub's wide ledge and lowering his mouth to the Human's fading erection. He quickly revived it and, pausing only for a few moments to suck on the Human's balls, brought him over the edge into a breathtaking orgasm. He pulled the Human onto his chest and stroked his silky back while he recovered. "My prize, my prize, how you please me," he murmured, kissing Chekov's mussed hair. At length, he drew the Human to standing, dried him and carried him back to bed. He folded Chekov into his arms and held his sleeping form through the night.

***

Chekov gasped as Kahrag mounted him from behind the next morning. He went limp as the Klingon gently rammed his slick cock into him. He had no fight left in him, at least not that morning. He bit his erotic groans off in the pillow as Kahrag's penis stroked his prostate with every thrust. He lay passive as the Klingon caressed him into a simultaneous climax and lay panting beneath him.

"Good morning, my prize," Kahrag muttered gratefully against his neck and withdrew. The Klingon took a few steadying breaths and tottered into to the bathroom.

Chekov pulled a pillow over his head to shut out the cheerful morning light and the sound of the Kahrag getting ready to leave. That was the only bright spot on Chekov's horizon: the Klingon would be gone most of the day. He felt the bed sag under Kahrag's weight.

"Your breakfast, Chekov," he said, pulling the pillow away and applying the hypospray to Chekov's neck. "Are you well, Human?" Kahrag inquired tenderly.

"No."

"What's wrong, my sweet?"

"I'm sore."

"Ah, yes, so am I," the Klingon patted his back affectionately, "but it was worth it, was it not?"

Chekov groaned and pulled another pillow over his head.

Kahrag patted him a little more and left some ahmrasine brewing on the stove before he departed for the day. A happier Klingon, one would be hard pressed to find.

***

"What do these words mean, your grace?" Chekov repeated the syllables Kahrag had breathed into his ear the previous morning.

"It means 'you are everything'," Kboexi told him seriously. "Where did you hear it? In bed?" he suggested when Chekov lowered his eyes and seemed unwilling to answer. The Vixharth gently took hold of the navigator's chin and turned his eyes up to him. "It is a profound compliment under any circumstances, Chekov. It is the most passionate line from the most passionate of Klingon love poetry, _The K'vra_, by K'rstn, one of our greatest poets. Perhaps I will teach you a stanza or two to amuse Kahrag with this evening." He paused to watch Chekov look even more miserable. "My child, what troubles you?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Many things," Chekov sighed, "I think being in this room, day after day..." he trailed off. "I am used to more activity and I find this confinement unpleasant," he finished firmly.

Kboexi considered his own freedom and his pity was roused. "Well, I do not think the subcommander will object if we have our lesson in the open air," he said briskly, drawing his communicator from his belt. "What do you prefer, Chekov, the shore, the mountains, the prairie?" he asked, hailing his driver.

"Some place were I can see forever in all directions," Chekov said prayerfully, smiling in spite of everything.

"'Where the horizon clamps down upon the earth like an azure bowl upended'," Kboexi said gently in Klingon, as much to Chekov as to himself, mesmerized by the Human's smile. "That's what I'll teach you today," he said, switching back to Standard, "some stanzas from the Gharhaztrina." He ordered his driver to Kahrag's abode and after penning a quick note about his and Chekov's whereabouts to that Klingon, he ushered the Human into the back of his airlimo.

Chekov did not sink back into the luxurious interior. He was too busy looking about him at the strange city passing, thinning and finally disappearing as they glided into open countryside.

The vehicle glided to a gentle halt in the middle of a grove.

"Wait," Kboexi commanded, forestalling any comment by the lieutenant.

The driver opened the door for them. Chekov did his best not to wince as he forced complaining muscles to help bring him to his feet. He hoped no one noticed.

"Now describe to me what you see and how you feel in Klingonese," Kboexi instructed, gesturing expansively at the setting.

Chekov rubbed his lower back as he looked around as if he were simply stretching. "Can we go there?" he asked in Klingonese, pointing to a low hill nearby.

"That is our destination," his host replied in the same language, gesturing him forward.

The driver remained with the vehicle as the two of them walked further into the grove. The trees were more like giant ferns than true trees -- somewhat like the mimosa of Earth. They were widely spaced in the stretch of short grasses and wildflowers. Chekov thought he even saw a tiny cactus or two.

"Speak!" Kboexi encouraged in Klingonese.

"This place is very beautiful," the lieutenant replied in the same language. "The air is fresh and warm. The trees are also beautiful."

"Oh really?" Kboexi said, suddenly switching back to Standard. "Do you think so? I suppose they have a certain charm, but... I should take you to my estate sometime... But I'm interrupting. Please continue."

They were by this time on a narrow dusty path that led up the hill.

"This place differs from Terra," Chekov said in Klingonese, "but it gives me thoughts of Terra."

"Bravo," Kboexi congratulated in Standard, impressed by the lieutenant's correct formulation of a compound sentence. "It would seem the diligent subcommander did not let you neglect your lessons on your day off."

"On *his* day off," Chekov corrected ruefully.

"I see." Kboexi tactfully passed over all the clues in the lieutenant's tone and condition that suggested he'd spent the previous day being used hard and well. "If you gain nothing else from your sojourn here, you will at least come away with a working knowledge of the language."

"That's true," the navigator replied neutrally.

"Even an elementary knowledge of Klingonese could prove useful to a Starfleet officer," Kboexi pointed out. "So you will have done *something* productive."

Chekov gave a half-laugh. "Mr. Spock will approve. He always says I need to learn more languages."

The lieutenant froze mid-stride realizing that he had just casually mentioned a prominent member of the Enterprise crew -- just as he had promised himself he'd never do in front of this Klingon.

Kboexi, who was on the trail in front of him, turned and sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "That is the sort of thing I long to hear -- Not information about weaponry and tactics, but bits of personality like that. Stories and gossip that haven't lost or gained anything in their travels halfway around the galaxy."

"What interests you so about Captain Kirk?" Chekov asked, moving forward again.

Kboexi shrugged as he fell into step beside him. "He's an interesting person."

"Most Klingons hate him."

"And that's exactly what interests me," Kboexi smiled. "Why is there such fascination with Kirk among the Klingon people? Other starship commanders have won significant battles, yet their names remain unknown. Presidents, kings, and admirals of the Federation are anonymous here. But Kirk, the devil Kirk -- A veritable cultural mythos has grown up around him within just a few short years."

"Is that your area of study?" Chekov asked. "Cultural anthropology?"

"That's a rough equivalent to what I do, or rather *did* before I..." Kboexi paused and gave a half laugh. "...specialized. Some call it an obsession. It is a consuming interest. I would most dearly love to meet your captain some day."

The Klingon gave a heartfelt sigh at the thought. From this and the sort of gleam in his eye -- a gleam that the lieutenant had become accustomed to seeing in the eyes of another member of his race -- Chekov concluded that Kboexi wanted to do a great deal more than speak to Captain Kirk.

'They're all mad,' Chekov decided as the two of them reached the top of the small hill.

Looking about him, the lieutenant could see countryside stretching in all directions. The capitol city was a mere glint on one far horizon.

"Does it please you?" Kboexi asked in Klingonese. "Speak."

"Yes." Chekov closed his eyes as he turned his face up to an alien sun and spoke in an alien language. "I feel, for one second, free."

***

"And here he is," Kboexi said, escorting the lieutenant at Kahrag's doorstep. "Back safely at the appointed time."

The gunner crossed his arms, looking less than pleased. "So I see."

Kboexi turned to Chekov. "I hope you enjoyed our little outing."

"I did, your grace." The navigator smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

The thunderclouds gathering around Kahrag's head grew darker. "Since I am this Human's legal guardian," he said coldly to his fellow Klingon, "it would be... more gracious of you to clear any future excursions with me *prior to* rather than *after* the fact."

"Oh, yes, certainly," Kboexi replied lightly. "Purely a spur of the moment impulse. Don't mean to tread on toes."

The gunner remained unsmiling.

"Obviously have." The Vixharth pulled at his goatee thoughtfully. "What to do to make this up? Perhaps something that would be educational as well...."

"Thank you." Kahrag motioned Chekov inwards with a jerk of his head. "But you've done enough today."

Kboexi was still standing there considering the matter when Kahrag banged the door closed behind him. "Whose idea was this?"

The navigator crossed to a nearby table where a glass of water was waiting for him. "Mine, in part. He asked why I was unhappy. I told him I was tired of being caged in here. He suggested a trip and I agreed."

"Oh?" The Klingon's eyes narrowed. "I thought it might be that one of you became uncomfortable with the idea of dishonoring my bed with your fornications."

The lieutenant blinked at him. "What?"

"Do you think me blind?" Kahrag's lip curled dangerously. "Do you think you can smile and bat your eyes at a lover before me..."

"This is ridiculous," Chekov interrupted disbelievingly. "And rather insulting."

"Insulting? You dare speak to me of insult?" The Klingon slapped the glass of water out of the Russian's hand. It crashed against the opposite wall. "You heartless, ungrateful, whoring little.."

"Whore?" The navigator's temper flared up to meet his captor's. "You try to make me one..."

"I should sell you to a brothel and be rid of your lying mouth." For emphasis, Kahrag let something drop from his fist to the table top.

It was the handle of the broken cup.

Chekov's righteous indignation froze as he watched the pottery shard wobble to a standstill.

"Knowing your fondness for ahmrasine, I was preparing some while I waited for you to return from your tryst," the gunner reported. "Looking for a cup, I found instead evidence of your love of deceiving me."

"And now you have an excuse to beat me." Chekov nodded. "How convenient."

"Convenient? In what way?"

"You're obviously wishing to punish me because you are feeling jealous of..."

Kahrag lifted the Russian up by the shirtfront. "DO NOT speak to me of my feelings!" he thundered. "You know NOTHING of my heart."

Chekov could feel that heart beating close to his own as he was held. Suddenly face to face, breathing hard, staring intently into each others' eyes, the lieutenant was reminded against his will of the sexual encounters between them from the day before. For a moment, he thought the Klingon might have been distracted by a similar memory.

If he was, it didn't seem to make much difference. "You know nothing of my heart," Kahrag repeated bitterly, lowering the navigator to his feet. "Nor do you care."

From the sympathetic pang these words evoked in him, Chekov was surprised to find that on some level, he did seem to care. He looked at the floor, hoping to hide this unwelcome reaction.

The Klingon was still too caught up in his own emotions to notice. "Since I have no desire to give you further opportunity to flaunt yourself, I will punish you privately for this offence."

The lieutenant found his heart was capable of quickly re-hardening. "Do you intend to beat me as you did the first time you held me prisoner?"

"Don't fear for your fine skin, Human." Kahrag did not deign to look at the navigator as he sat down in one of his chairs and reached for a reader. "Then I punished you as an officer. Knowing you better, I will now only give you the sort of discipline that befits a willful child or ill-behaved concubine such as yourself."

Chekov's feelings for the Klingon returned to a comfortable level of loathing. "Then beat me now and get it over with."

"If I beat you now," Kahrag said, keeping his eyes on the reader he was paging through, "I fear I may kill you. Take a blanket down from the shelf and make yourself a pallet. You will sleep on the floor tonight."

Considering this a fine idea, the lieutenant did not hesitate to obey the order.

'What a fool I've been,' he thought, pulling down a thick bed cover. 'Co-operating when what I really needed to do was defy him. He can beat me all he likes -- just as long as it keeps me out of his damned bed.'

Of course, not being in the Klingon's bed didn't necessarily mean that Kahrag didn't intend to have sex with him... Chekov stole a glance at his captor as he marched past with a stack of bedding. Yes, it did. There was no trace of the raging desire that the lieutenant had begun to assume was just a normal aspect of the Klingon's personality. Bitter rejection had replaced it.

Chekov spread a coverlet out in the corner of the room furthermost away from the bed. Somehow he couldn't help feeling guilty at having disappointed someone who had previously thought of him so highly.

Kahrag caught his glance. "How did the cup come to be destroyed?" he asked over top of the reader. "Was it, as I assume, dashed to the ground as you cursed my name?"

"No." Chekov dropped a pillow at the head of his rude pallet. "It was hit accidentally by my elbow." He straightened and faced his captor, folding his hands behind his back. "I apologize for not informing you. I did not do so out of sheer cowardice -- an action most unworthy of an officer... even one in my situation."

The Klingon gave him a hard look before turning back to his reader. "A pretty apology won't save you from a beating."

"No, of course not," Chekov agreed. "For that's the way one treats 'spoiled pets' and 'wilful concubines'. Perhaps if you treated me as though I were a..."

"Treated you as your lover does?" Kahrag interrupted with a sneer.

"Kboexi is not my lover," the lieutenant contradicted coldly. "Nor will he ever be. I'm aware that he's trying to win my confidence -- perhaps to better pump me for information about Captain Kirk."

The Klingon snorted. "Pump you and hump you."

"Perhaps," the navigator had to concede. "However, he's made no such advance thus far. And it is pleasant to be treated as an equal, even if it is merely a ruse."

Kahrag looked at him for a long moment, his harsh Klingon features unreadable.

"Come here," he ordered, putting his reader aside.

Not one hundred percent that he wasn't being called to receive his punishment, Chekov obeyed reluctantly. When the navigator came within reach, Kahrag caught him by the wrist and directed him to sit on the arm of the chair.

"Kboexi does not think of you as an equal," the gunner informed him, "no matter how he may act. Never forget that. You have no idea of what a very powerful and very dangerous individual he is -- how easily you could fall into his grasp..."

For a moment it was clear from the Klingon's face how much this idea tortured Kahrag. He took in a deep breath and regained control. "It is best that I treat you as a child. You know nothing. You cannot fathom the danger that is all about you. You cannot protect yourself." He reached out and ran a gentle finger down the navigator's cheek. "You do not even understand the workings of your own heart."

At that moment, Chekov could not argue with this last assertion. He was at a loss to explain how he could be half-convinced that he was on the verge of being pulled down across the Klingon's knees to be humiliated with a paddling and simultaneously half-filled with longing to be drawn into that strong lap to be forgiven with a kiss instead.

Both of them were startled by the unexpected chiming of the dwelling's comm unit.

Kahrag rose and crossed to it. "Speak," he commanded in Klingonese.

"Think I've figured a delightful reparation for my thoughtlessness this afternoon." Kboexi's voice replied in cheerful Standard. "Korzra's invited us to his box at the Imperial theater this evening, I've lent mine to someone or we'd be in it. You must agree."

Kahrag exhaled and squared his shoulders. "Of course, your grace," he said neutrally, "what time is the curtain?"

"I'll have my limo pick you up in two hours." Kboexi switched off.

The sub-commander sighed patiently and turned to Chekov. "You seem to be having a busy day, Human."

"Why didn't you refuse?" Chekov asked quietly, passively, perhaps even demurely.

"Well timed and well executed submission is an art on Klingon, especially at court and in the officer corps," Kahrag explained, drawing near. "When one cannot say no, one must learn to say yes with as much grace as possible. I hardly think I'd have to explain that to you, my prize," he concluded with something of his old leer.

Chekov lowered his eyes to hide his relief that the Klingon seemed to be getting over his jealousy and back to normal. "I still don't understand..."

"The consequences of saying no to both Kboexi and Korzra would be vast," Kahrag informed him briskly, tired of the subject. "Captain Korzra in not in my chain of command but has powerful friends there. Kboexi... Kboexi is simply powerful everywhere. Depending on his mood, he could give me a command or have me executed and no explanation needed."

"It's madness, Klingon. How can anyone live like that?"

"It was never an issue until I possessed something they both want," Kahrag tilted Chekov's chin up and kissed him softly. "And want badly," he continued, still holding the Russian's chin. "You do realize that if Kboexi asked me for you, I would have no way to say no. Of course, you might want to go with him," he concluded when Chekov said nothing.

Chekov's temper flared, he was tired of being called a slut when, in this case, he very much was not one. "I want to go back to the Federation, Klingon," he said coldly, "and no one here seems to understand that." He tried to lift his chin out of Kahrag's hand but was held fast.

"Temper, temper, my sweet," the Klingon soothed. "You are beautiful when you're angry. I hope I'm the only one you show it to." He let go of the navigator's chin and patted his cheek. "Don't you want to know what will happen if Korzra asks for you?" he called after Chekov, who'd stomped into the kitchen for some more water.

"Are you going to tell me whether I do or not?" Chekov asked sourly, putting some water to boil.

"Yes." Kahrag leaned against the doorjamb, watching Chekov trying to decipher the writing on the ahmrasine package. He took it and began to brew some for him. "Korzra, I could forestall. It is not seemly for a superior officer to take a well won prize from his subordinate. Unless the subordinate offered it to him."

'Barbarians,' thought Chekov.

"However," the Klingon continued, adjusting the temperature under the pot, "since your status has changed from spoils to hostage, it is possible for Korzra to demand you in his home as might befit a valuable political prisoner. There would be nothing I could do about that." He reached into a high cabinet for a cup. "Here, Human, we only have eight of these left. Try to conserve this one," he said sarcastically.

Chekov ignored this last. "Why do you think either of them want me?"

"The way they look at you."

Unable to decode the Klingon male social order, Chekov suggested that they were more interested in what he might know about Starfleet and nothing else.

Kahrag said he doubted it and left the Human drinking ahmrasine while he showered. When he came out, there was a pot of tea and a cup by his chair. He ordered Chekov to bathe and sat moodily drinking his tea.

"Come here and recite what you learned today," he growled when Chekov emerged, wrapped in a robe. "Learned about Klingonese, not Kboexi's pleasure," he clarified.

Chekov sat opposite him and flawlessly recited the stanzas from the Gharhaztrina.

Kahrag sat back impressed. "Do you understand them?" he asked in Klingonese.

"A little," Chekov answered. "I don't understand the words 'death nature binds us.' What does that mean?"

"Submission to nature, Human," Kahrag explained slowly. "Nature, death, chance are beyond our control, the poet is saying if we accept our bondage we are free."

Chekov thought about this, translated it into Standard in his head, then into Russian, then back into Standard, then back into Klingonese. "What?" he finally asked.

"Submission..." Kahrag began in Standard.

"I understand the words, Klingon," Chekov said, "but not the meaning."

"Well," Kahrag mused, "nor do I, really. It's an old old poem and... we're Klingons, my prize: if we can't understand it and we can't kill it, then we submit to it and try to forget about it." He watched Chekov suppressing a half smile. "There, I've made you almost laugh; that's good. Perhaps you will like what's in the locker over there," he gestured to an open panel by the bed. "Go look."

Chekov rose and found his new wardrobe hanging in neat rows. Never much interested in fashion, Chekov was impressed that the richness and beauty of the fabrics held even him spellbound for a moment. He reached out to stroke a silk tunic that seemed lit from within. He started when Kahrag put his hands on his shoulders; he'd been too distracted by the clothes to hear the Klingon come up behind him.

"They are lovely," he murmured, "but not as lovely as you." He pressed his lips to Chekov's neck and swept him up. "I hope Kboexi did not use you too hard this afternoon."

"He did not use me at all, I'm sore from you."

"Then a little more sore will not make a difference," Kahrag informed him. "Ah, too bad, we don't have time for it," he said looking at the chrono by the bed. He tossed Chekov back to standing. "Get dressed, wear the red silk one," he waved at a luminous garnet creation and drew his own dress uniform out the adjoining locker.

They dressed quickly, Kahrag dragged a brush through Chekov's hair, and the lieutenant even got to finish his ahmrasine before the airlimo arrived.

"What are we seeing, Klingon?" Chekov asked, looking out the window at the strange city.

"A new play by Kocvnq. The story about valor and honor in an outpost besieged by alien hordes," Kahrag told him. "I was planning to see it in a few weeks so this is... a fortunate occurrence." He looked wryly at Chekov, trying to remember why he'd been so angry with the little Human earlier. And then he remembered, but still couldn't get worked up about it. Kahrag leaned close to him and pointed out buildings and sites of historical or martial significance. The driver drew near and circled around a huge building that appeared to be engulfed in a riot.

"Here we are," Kahrag said cheerfully.

"Here?"

"Yes, these Klingons are just trying to get tickets," Kahrag informed him, watching a group of Klingons rush the heavily fortified box office with a battering ram. "This show's been sold out for months."

They watched a vehicle overturned and set on fire.

"This must be quite a good show," Chekov murmured.

"Why? The ticket line?" Kahrag asked. "This is normal, Human. Klingons wait until the last moment to do things like this and then they go crazy when they can't get tickets. This is nothing; you should have seen the riots when "Skolta" was performed here. The militia was called out to restore order." He smiled at the memory. "It was quite amusing."

"The show?"

"All of it."

They turned their attention to the driver nosing the limo into the subterranean tunnels beneath the Imperial theater. Chekov found the dark and quiet of the tunnels unnerving after the fires and chaos of the street. The limo glided to a stop before a well lit portal. Two Klingons in livery opened their doors and directed them to a turbolift marked Captain Korzra. It was next to a turbolift marked General K'ShrnHaat, next to that was one for Admiral KjztYhet, five away from it was one for the Supreme Religious Leader, and the turbolift in the middle was for the Emperor. Kahrag pointed this out to the lieutenant as they waited for their lift. He cast a baleful look at the footmen staring at Chekov in his finery.

And the Human did look fine. The clothes fit him like a glove. The blackish red silk threw color into his pale cheeks while making his skin seem more creamy, more luminous. The tunic was cut like a close fitting, belted jacket and draped in such a way as to lead the viewer to want to take it off him immediately.

Kahrag cursed and blessed his tailors for their skill. He rather regretted that they were not home, naked, but, he thought, as he ushered Chekov into the lift, it was something to look forward to. These happy thoughts were interrupted by their arrival in Korzra's box.

Chekov had never been in a theater where the lift took you directly into someone's private box. He later learned it was more for status than security reasons. Assassination was never widely practiced on Klingon; what was the point? Why bother to kill this one when the next one is only worse?

"Welcome, Kahrag," Korzra called, nodding to Chekov but otherwise ignoring him. He did, however, note that the Human looked good enough to eat. Just the right level of sexy subdued and modest allure. 'I'm surprised Kahrag ever lets him out of bed,' the captain thought roguishly.

Kboexi exchanged greetings with Kahrag. He tried to catch Chekov's eye but the lieutenant kept his eyes firmly lowered. He gave up, poured some wine and talked to the warriors about how badly things were going in the neutral zone just then. They ignored the Human.

The Human was happy to be ignored. He was listening to the sound coming from the auditorium; it sounded like a large angry animal. He had caught a glimpse of it and it looked to him that the riot outside had moved inside. The lights dimmed and sounds of a stampede reached Chekov's ears. The very picture of obedience, he rose on Kahrag's signal and was guided to a seat near the front of the box. He was between Kahrag and the wall, obscured from the house by a curtain. He leaned forward to look down at the throng. Kahrag gently pulled him back.

"We don't want the whole city knowing you're here, Human," he growled at Chekov. "You can look when the lights go down."

Chekov wondered what would happen if he jumped up and called for help or threw himself into the throng below. Probably nothing in the first case and he'd be torn to bits in the second. He couldn't see it but it sounded like the theatergoers were fighting their way into their seats. The house lights and the thrashing about died down simultaneously. Chekov looked on with interest as the dented and pitted metal panels that served as a curtain clanked slowly back.

Only a darkened stage was revealed. Odd shapes glimmered in the faint glow of light emanating from a platform suspended from the ceiling of the auditorium. Leaning forward Chekov could see musicians sat there. The light was spilling from their music stands.

Motion below caught his eye and the lieutenant looked down, missing the signal from the conductor that would have warned him that all the musicians were about to blast forth with a deafening chord. Simultaneous with this outburst, all the stage lights came up to blinding magnitude.

The audience roared with approval.

Kahrag laughed and put an arm around his charge who had nearly fallen out of his seat in surprise.

As the orchestra, which seemed to be composed mostly of gongs and something that sounded like bagpipes, began to play a stirring march, Chekov tried to regain his composure. "What the hell was that for?" he asked the Klingon -- speaking at a soft shout so as to be heard without disturbing the other patrons.

"Klingon players like the audience to be awake," Kahrag yelled back as explanation.

'With an orchestra like that,' the lieutenant thought, squinting at the brilliantly lit stage, 'this company could play to the dead.'

The set featured several small, brilliantly painted buildings with gilded roofs. After a moment, Chekov realized that he'd seen this configuration of buildings before in Kahrag's textbooks. This was a model of the center of the capitol city scaled down for the stage.

"I thought this play was supposed to take place on an outpost," Chekov said. Since the orchestra was now playing a soft passage, slightly louder than conversational volume could double as a polite whisper.

"It does."

The navigator pointed at the set. "Then what's that?"

It took Kahrag a moment to figure out what he meant. "It honors the Emperor."

"Oh?" Although this answer didn't make sense, Chekov had no time to question it. At that moment, the orchestra leader signaled a rousing gong solo and performers began to pop in. Some emerged from trap doors in the floor or set. Some swung in on ropes. Others were delivered slightly above the stage floor by transporter and tumbled gracefully into position. Within five seconds, a cast of thirty appeared. The gongs crescendoed and the players formed a dramatic tableau, simultaneously hitting the final pose with military precision.

The crowd screamed in appreciation and Chekov had to admit that he was almost as impressed as he was puzzled. "What was that?"

"The triumphant entrance of the ensemble," Kahrag informed him, looking surprised that the lieutenant wouldn't recognize such a mundane feature of the performance.

The lights dimmed and a bagpipe trio began a keening drone. A sparkling trail appeared over the heads of the audience members seated on the ground floor. From the back of the theatre came the bellow of a vigorous baritone voice. The crowd began to shout as a spotlight hit a Klingon in full battlegarb. He bared his teeth and gestured expansively as he made his way down the shimmering force field bridge to the stage, continuing to roar out something incomprehensible.

"This is the triumphant entrance of the lead actor," Kahrag informed his charge. "He sings a song to honor the Emperor."

Chekov glanced at the boxes around and opposite them. "Is the Emperor here?"

"My word, no." At the sound of his tutor's voice, the lieutenant looked back to find Kboexi had taken a seat behind him. "He saw this thing ages ago."

As the lead actor made his slow progress, Chekov could now discern that audience members on the ground floor were not seated at all. The management had packed them in standing. The majority of them were now crowded as close as possible to the force bridge, clambering over each other to get a better view. The lead actor paused in his song to make special recognition of a spectator in a box near theirs.

"He's saluting General K'ShrnHaat," Kboexi informed him. "The Haats are patrons of this company."

Something that looked like confetti and coins showered down from the spectator boxes periodically. Whatever it was bounced off invisible protective shielding around the actor.

"What do you think of the renowned G'danqu-anas' singing?" Kboexi asked.

Chekov spread his hand helplessly. "I can't judge, your grace."

"Are our Klingon harmonies so discordant to you?"

"I wouldn't know, your grace," the lieutenant explained. "I'm told that I'm fairly tone deaf."

"Oh." The Vixharth didn't seem to quite know what to do with this reply.

Kahrag kept his eyes on the scene below, but smiled at the honest sincerity of his charge's unwitting rebuff of what the young Human had probably not recognized as an overture. "Tone deaf," he repeated almost inaudibly, chuckled, then patted the navigator's leg approvingly.

As the actor approached the stage, a section of the force bridge broadened into a platform. The song honoring the Emperor was rudely interrupted by another wild gong solo as a second actor was transported in. This performer was wearing a grotesque mask of red, silver, and black face paint, a streaming wig of wild black hair, and a heavily padded version of a Romulan officer's uniform -- a *female* Romulan officer.

"Is that a woman?" Chekov asked, as the performer hissed at the growling crowd.

Kahrag shrugged and deferred to Kboexi.

"It's rumored she is," the Vixharth said. "But I don't believe it. She's too convincing. Women can't play women as well as men do."

The demon Romulan player took a variety of menacing poses as the crowed snarled and the gongs went wild. She held up her hand and a huge bladed weapon materialized there. With crashes from the orchestra accenting every step, she advanced on the lead actor. They engaged in a choreographed skirmish that was so swift and precise it made the spectators gasp. The lead actor defended himself bare-handed for a remarkable amount of time, but at last fell under the Romulan's blade.

The audience screamed in protest as the Romulan took a defiantly triumphant pose. Even Kahrag and Korzra rose to their feet, stamping and shouting.

"Get up," Kboexi urged the lieutenant over the din. "It's part of the fun."

The demon Romulan made rude gestures at the audience, egging them on. Chekov could see that some of the groundlings were whipped into such a fury that they flung themselves at the forcefields protecting the actors only to be knocked senseless. Just when the lieutenant thought that the entire place was going to come down, the bagpipes began to whir strains of the opening march. The lead actor revived miraculously. Taking the Romulan player, who was still taunting the crowd, by surprise, he attacked vigorously, gained the weapon, and overcame his painted foe.

The audience was in a frenzy of delight. The building shook with their approbation. They stamped and shouted as the lead actor dragged the limp body of the faux Romulan to the stage. Finally, all joined in as the beloved performer led a chorus of the song to honor the Emperor.

All, that is, except Chekov, who didn't know the words and didn't particularly wish to honor the Emperor -- although at this moment, he felt intimidated enough to have done so if pressed. The lieutenant decided he'd seen pitched battles that were more sedate.

"Is that it?" the navigator asked as the house lights came up.

"Oh, no," Kboexi laughed. "They're just pausing to let everyone get a drink before the play starts."

"Do you want some water?" Kahrag offered.

"If the rest of it is going to be like that," Chekov said, "I think I need a real drink."

Next to the fireworks of the prologue, the first act was almost staid. The lieutenant couldn't understand much of the dialogue, but the action was fairly easy to follow. The acting style was declamatory. Important speeches were underscored by blasts from the bagpipes and clangs of the gongs. The costuming and makeup varied from realistic to stylized for no reason the lieutenant could discern. The capitol city set remained in the background throughout, but scenery was beamed in and out to augment the audience's visualization of each scene.

The Klingon audience was very vocal. They were quick to shout insults or suggestions to the players on stage. The actors broke character regularly to interact with them -- much to the delight of all. Often the characters themselves seemed to be appealing directly to the groundlings for help or advice on the situation being played. At times, performers stopped the action to lead the crowd in the chorus of what had to be a familiar song not connected to the play to emphasis some feeling or point. A few performers responded rudely to derogatory comments about their abilities. Chekov wondered if these players would be so bold without the layer of shielding separating them from their viewers.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," Korzra said quietly to Kahrag.

The Klingon looked at his captive, who was currently frowning as he attempted to puzzle through a dense soliloquy. "He is intelligent."

The Intelligence Officer grinned. "How is he in bed?"

"As he is here," the gunner answered blandly. "Obedient and well-behaved."

Korzra conveyed his dubiousness with a snort.

Kahrag didn't say, "Well, you'll never know if he is or not" aloud, but the thought hung in the air between them.

Soon afterwards the Intelligence Officer excused himself. He did not return to his box until halfway through intermission.

"But they-- the characters, I mean," Chekov was saying to Kahrag and Kboexi. "They are supposed to be ground troops, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Then why do they keep worrying about flying with honor?"

"Dying with honor," Kahrag corrected patiently. "*Dying* with honor."

"Here." Kboexi, noticing Korzra's expectant silence, handed the lieutenant a program. "There is a summary of the plot in the back. You should be able to make it out. Let's refresh our drinks, Sub-Commander."

"Well, comrades, it would seem we have an answer from High Command," Korzra informed the pair when they reached the small bar at the back of the box. "And remarkably enough, each of us has gotten something he wanted. How much Klingonese does your little pet understand, Kahrag?"

"Speak quickly and he won't be able to follow you," Kboexi replied for him.

"Your request was granted?" Kahrag asked grimly.

The Intelligence Officer nodded. "Yes. My office will be granted an interrogation session. But to please the two of you, we aren't allowed to use torture or mind scan."

Kahrag glanced over a Chekov who had looked up from the program and was now watching the troupe of six-armed alien jugglers who had been brought on stage. "What will you use?"

"Drugs." Even Korzra had flinched a little at this adamantly un-Klingon technique. It was a thousand times more honorable to offer a captive torture or madness with the chance (however slight) to resist and endure than to coerce a subject rendered helpless before the questioning had even begun.

Kboexi wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I think you in Intelligence have been contaminated by your close study of the Roms."

"And you've been made soft and squeamish by your obsession with Terrans," Korzra countered.

"Terrans use truth drugs as well," the Vixharth pointed out.

"Then your little Human shouldn't be bothered by them."

"I wish to be present," Kahrag said, forestalling any further exchange.

"Both of you may monitor from nearby, but my office doesn't want either of you to be physically present. It may interfere with the procedure." Contemplating that procedure, all three Klingons stole a glance at Chekov who was smiling at some trick of the jugglers.

"Afterwards, I want him to come to my estate to recover for a day or two," Kboexi said. "I'd like to have access to him while his guard's down and he's suggestible."

A low growl came out of Kahrag's throat.

"Please, Sub-Commander," the Vixharth snapped. "If I wanted to fuck him that badly, I could take him from you right now. Really, Kahrag, your lack of faith in me begins to annoy. And I can assure you that you do not want to annoy me... now or ever."

It took the gunner a long, deadly moment to reign in his emotions.

"I will not bore you by responding to your threat, Vixharth Kboexi," he replied at last.

Despite his knowledge that there was very little the subcommander could do to him, Kboexi found himself chilled by the gunner's lethal calm and was glad that the orchestra started playing the overture for the second act.

Chekov could not translate quickly enough to appreciate the beauty of the death poems of the embattled Klingon warriors that the final act was famous for -- at least according to the program. He was able to fully appreciate the pyrotechnics of the conclusive battle, though. This scene involved not only an impressively executed melee onstage, but also the flinging of holographic wreckage and body parts through the force shield and seemingly into the audience. At the height of the massacre, what looked like blood was poured from the catwalks above onto the heads of the groundlings. The spectacle of blood-spattered Klingons in the pit howling the loss of their fictive brothers in arms was as affecting as anything presented on stage. Chekov could see spectators in the boxes weeping openly.

The lieutenant was puzzled when the players offered not one, but three different endings. The first featured the lead player nobly perishing in battle -- as predicted in the synopsis in the program. As a similar conclusion had in the prologue, this end brought the house to its feet, raging in protest. As if to appease the crowd, after a strident orchestral interlude the last scene was presented again. This time, the lead prevailed over a completely unrealistic number of assailants. After the lights faded on his triumphant pose, the cheering audience quieted and the orchestra started up yet again. This ending started identically to the first. However after the hero's death, the Klingon and his comrades arose as holographic projections and went on to defeat their opponents in a rematch staged -- or so Chekov presumed -- in the afterworld.

This conclusion seemed to both please and calm the crowd, who joined the cast in singing a final song to honor the Emperor.

"How did you like it?" Kboexi asked his pupil in Klingonese.

"It was very..." Chekov paused, knowing he would be at loss for a term even in his native language. "...very Klingon."

"Kocvnq's script is weaker than has been reported," Kboexi critiqued in Standard as the party headed for the lift. "I think the show's reputation is based almost entirely on the staging."

"Which was quite effective," Korzra agreed as they entered the small chamber and began to descend. "Must have cost the Haats half a planet for the battle scene alone."

The Vixharth shrugged. "They must feel it's worth it."

Korzra grinned. "It's worth every penny if it helps sway public opinion in their favor. And who could possibly call such a patriotic play anti-Yhet propaganda?"

Both men decided to suspend their discussion when the lift doors opened onto the parking lot where members of both families were climbing into vehicles.

"You're quiet, Kahrag," Kboexi said as they waited for his driver to make his way to them.

The gunner put his hands on the navigator's shoulders. "Thank our host."

"Thank you, your grace," Chekov said dutifully in Klingonese, beginning to feel like a prize five-year-old trotted out to perform his latest trick. "It was an interested and educated evening."

"Interesting and educating," his tutor corrected as the airlimo pulled around for them. "Kahrag, I'll have my driver take you. Korzra and I will probably go have a few drinks, but I know you'll want to go straight home."

"And to bed," Korzra added with unnecessary lasciviousness.

Kahrag ushered the navigator in before him. "Thank you for your courtesy," he replied to them both in Klingonese -- where the phrase had subtle negative connotations.

Kboexi sighed as he watched the car slide away. "Somehow, I assumed the gunner was going to be much, much more stupid than he seems to be."

Korzra's mouth twisted. "Yes. Wouldn't that have been nice?"

Inside the limo, Kahrag remained silent. Chekov began to wonder if he'd done something wrong. How antisocial was he going to have to be in public to avoid being accused of wanton behavior?

As if sensing the thought, the Klingon turned his head. He looked at the lieutenant for a long moment, then began to smile a little. "Come to me, my pretty one," he ordered, holding out his arms.

Chekov hesitated, glancing at the driver apprehensively.

"What deliciously wicked thoughts you have," Kahrag chided, grasping his charge around the waist and pulling him close. "But all I want is to hold you next to me."

Chekov, knowing resisting was pointless, didn't struggle as the Klingon nestled him by his side, putting both strong arms around him and gently pressing the Human's head to rest on his broad chest.

"I just want to hold you," Kahrag repeated, tenderly stroking the lieutenant's hair, "for as long as I can."

Laying against the Klingon's chest, Chekov began to review his evasive maneuvers for the rest of the evening. He had hoped to keep Kahrag at bay with anger but the Klingon seemed all tenderness again. 'Damn amorous Klingon,' he commiserated to himself but with little enthusiasm because he was very tired.

The next thing he knew, Kahrag was lifting him out of the limo and carrying him into the house.

"I'm awake," Chekov grumbled.

"No, you're not," the Klingon whispered, laying him on the bed and undoing the collar of his tunic.

Chekov sat up. "I can do it," he said brusquely and rose to shake off his elegant clothes some distance from Kahrag.

"As you wish, Human." Kahrag began removing the decorations from his dress uniform.

Drawing a robe around him, Chekov walked over to his pallet and lay down. He was rustling around and getting comfortable when Kahrag strolled over and looked down at him. The Klingon picked him up and carried him over to his bed.

"I thought you kicked me out of bed, Klingon," Chekov commented.

"I've had a change of heart, Human." Kahrag brushed Chekov's hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. "Are you sore?"

"Yes. Very," Chekov replied, "very sore."

"There are other things we could do... " the Klingon ventured.

"I'm very tired."

"All you have to do is lie still... " the Klingon began to peel back the robe.

"Kahrag," Chekov put as much exasperation into his tone as he dared.

"All right," he sighed, pulling Chekov's clothes together. "If you're tired and sore..."

"I am."

"Well, come bathe with me at least."

"I'd rather get some sleep."

"You can sleep when you're dead," Kahrag informed him sadly, "or when I'm dead." He rose and went into the bath to run a tub.

Chekov lay wondering at the tone more than the words for a few more moments before he was summoned. He was still puzzling over this as Kahrag herded him into the tub. The Russian might have enjoyed a bath alone, however, that was not to be. He surrendered to being washed and cuddled, he was saving his resistance for something really important. Like penetration.

Chekov could not fail to notice the Klingon's erection against his hip, but noted that Kahrag seemed merely content to caress him and hold him close. The navigator formed a grammatical Klingon sentence in his head.

"What did you think of the play?" he asked carefully.

"I thought," Kahrag said slowly in his native tongue, "it was good but boring."

"Boring?" Chekov twisted around to look into the Klingon's hooded eyes. This was a mistake, Kahrag pulled him in for a kiss but didn't hold him. "How boring, Klingon, it was..." Chekov quickly searched his vocabulary, "it was... interesting, very very interesting."

"How is that, Human?" Kahrag drawled.

"The dying, the music, the... the Rom..."

"Oh, yes, the performance tonight was exciting (I think that's the word you want, my dear) but the story was boring. Turn this way," he murmured, drawing Chekov astride his lap. "It's an old story, a good story but after three hundred different productions of the same story, I'm tired of it." He pressed Chekov against his erection.

"Are there no new stories?" the lieutenant asked, leaning back as well as he could.

"Yes, but only old stories are played in the Emperor's theater. Human," he said, switching to Standard, "I'll take you to see the most modern theater on the homeworld tomorrow but tonight let me come in peace." He looked seriously into to Chekov's eyes and added "Please."

"Are you desperate?" Chekov asked reluctantly.

"Yes."

The term 'mercy fuck' flitted across Chekov's mind but he pushed it away. 'It will not kill me to humor him a little but...' he relaxed and dropped his hands to the Klingon's erection, "Just this once, Klingon, understand me?"

"Yes, my prize," Kahrag panted softly in his ear, "just this once. Anything you say..." He caressed the Human's half mast cock but stopped when he was asked to.

'I can endure this better if I don't enjoy it,' Chekov thought with annoyance as he savagely jerked the Klingon's flesh.

The Klingon was loving it but, sensing that the Human was not enjoying it as much as he, did not spin out his pleasure overly long. He had a perfectly satisfying climax and lay back, very mellow, to watch Chekov wash his cum off his chest and hands. "Thanks," he sighed and got a scowl for an answer. 'So adorable, so sweet.' Kahrag tried not to think about Korzra's plans for his little Human. He decided to contact the Chief Interrogator, lieutenant Krossoro, again in the morning and find out what he knew about chemical interrogation in Korzra's department. All the interrogators knew each other, it was possible Krossoro could ease his mind, if not somehow protect Chekov. It was worth a try. He raised his eyes to find the Human studying him. "Go to bed," he said shortly, "my bed. I'll leave you be for the rest of the night."

"And the morning?" Chekov asked, toweling off.

"You so love to deny me, don't you, my sweet?"

"I won't be healed by morning, I just..."

"I will leave you be in the morning if that is your heart's desire, Human."

"It is," Chekov said firmly.

"Then you shall have it," Kahrag sighed, "but just go to bed now." Chekov heard him grumble something that sounded like "you're *so* spoiled" or "soiled," the navigator was never sure which as he trundled into bed.

Kahrag made a call and left a message before climbing into bed. The Klingon wished the Human good night, settled into his side of the bed and was asleep in three breaths.

Chekov lay staring at the canopy and listening to the Klingon's breathing. He chastised himself for feeling grateful to Kahrag because the Klingon had not raped him that evening. 'I have NOTHING to be grateful to this swine for,' he told himself firmly. But it was difficult to maintain his perspective, even the smallest act of kindness was magnified ten fold in the daily fabric of brutality that was life on the homeworld. '... terrible things happen on the homeworld. One must be alert and astute at all times...' Kahrag had warned and 'the devil you know...' and dozed off over a little prayer to a deity he did not really believe in.

***

In the morning the Klingon kept his word and did not molest him. He did not even wake Chekov before he left for the day. He did, however, pause to brew some ahmrasine for him and leave it heating on the stove.

Chekov awoke to the now familiar smell of ahmrasine. He woke alone and after listening a moment for Kahrag in the place, he gave into a violent urge to thrash around in the big bed. Sated, he rose and went to drink his ahmrasine and hypospray his breakfast. 'Alone, it's wonderful to be alone,' he thought between sips, organizing the housekeeping in his head, 'and I will be alone until Kboexi comes this afternoon.' He had a pang of regret for being cold to that Klingon the previous evening but he would explain it to him later. "I should not care what Kboexi thinks of me," he reminded himself as he made the bed, 'but I do.'

***

"And the past tense?" the Vixharth quizzed.

Chekov bit his lip to concentrate. "Dived?" he replied in Klingonese

Kboexi raised an eyebrow.

"Dove?" the lieutenant tried again. "Div?"

"There's no such word as 'div', Lieutenant."

"I'm sorry." Chekov sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I've learned too much too quickly. I can't concentrate."

Kboexi patted his pupil on the head as he crossed behind him to get a cup of tea. "Somehow, I don't think the amount you've learned has anything to do with your difficulties in concentration."

"Do you have any idea how long it will be before there will be a suitable prisoner to exchange for me?" Chekov asked, hoping that the Vixharth might know something his captor did not.

Kboexi shrugged and as he tilted the kettle towards his cup. "Could be days. Could be years. You shouldn't let yourself worry. Just continue to behave as properly as you do now... And you do behave *very* properly..."

There was a mild reproach in the Vixharth's words.

"I apologize if I seemed... overly distant at the theatre," the lieutenant said. "Kahrag is..."

"...As wildly jealous and overprotective as a targ with a single pup," Kboexi finished, pouring the navigator a cup as well.

"He treats me like a possession," the lieutenant fumed.

"Luckily there are those of us who think of you as something more." Kboexi handed the teacup to his pupil. "Much more."

As their hands brushed, a certain electricity seemed to pass between them. Chekov found it difficult for a moment to recall all the reasons why he was supposed to remember that this Klingon was so dangerous.

As suddenly as the moment arose, it was over. Kboexi crossed and picked up the reader. "Your next vocabulary word is 'wish'," he informed the lieutenant. "Use it in a sentence and then conjugate."

"I wish I was home," Chekov said plaintively in Klingonese. "Wish, wished, am wishing, will be wishing..."

***

"Has Kboexi left?" Kahrag asked as he entered.

Chekov looked up from the Klingonese text he was studying. "Yes. More than an hour ago."

"Good." The gunner crossed to the comm unit and input a code. "We're going to have a visitor."

"I thought we were going to the theatre."

"Unlike your wealthy tutor," Kahrag informed him, "I do not have a box reserved for me. We'll go when I can get tickets."

The doorchime sounded. Kahrag opened the door and a tall Klingon entered. The newcomer was much thinner than the gunner, but had the same commanding presence.

"Krossoro will examine you," Chekov's captor explained briefly. "Do as he says."

"Undress," the newcomer ordered and proceeded to break out a kit of scanners and probes without waiting to see if he was going to be obeyed.

Chekov looked to Kahrag for confirmation.

"Obey quickly," the Klingon warned.

The navigator reluctantly began to unfasten his clothing and remove his boots. There was something vaguely familiar about Kahrag's guest. Chekov wondered if he'd seen him before.

"You're still giving him the nutrient shots?" Krossoro asked, lining his instruments up on the table.

"Yes." Kahrag took a place nearby, leaning against the back of a chair. "And occasionally some kessa fruit."

"And plenty of water?" The interrogator gestured the Human forward.

Chekov hesitated, holding his clothing protectively in front of him. "I can't understand what he's saying."

"You're not meant to." Kahrag rose, removed the garments from the lieutenant's grasp, then guided his naked captive into position before the interrogator. "Krossoro and I are from the same home region. Between ourselves we speak a dialect that differs from the one you've been taught. Now remain silent and obey."

Chekov wondered what sort of doctor Krossoro was as the tall Klingon put long fingers to his throat and began to check his glands for swelling.

"He drinks water," Kahrag reported, returning to his former position. "I see that he has it at least twice a day. He also favors ahmrasine."

"That won't hurt him."

Krossoro felt underneath the lieutenant's arms, then experimentally tapped his chest in a few locations. Chekov closed his eyes and held his breath as the Klingon moved on to check his groin, but the Klingon's touch was coolly professional.

"If he drinks too much, he may have trouble sleeping." Krossoro gave his comrade a dry sidelong glance. "Although I doubt you'd be too bothered by that."

Kahrag gave a half laugh as the interrogator picked up a scanner and ran it over the Human.

"I'll need to take a sample of blood," Krossoro said, picking up an extraction device. "Will he stay still?"

"Human," Kahrag said in Standard. "Did you learn a piece to recite for me today?"

Chekov nodded, keeping his eyes warily on the extractor in Krossoro's hand.

"Speak it for me while Krossoro draws a bit of blood," Kahrag ordered. "Demonstrate how little fear you have of Klingons."

The lieutenant remembered being subjected to a very similar examination on board the Klingon vessel two years ago before being turned over to Kahrag. Experience had taught him that unlike Federation medical equipment, Klingon instruments frequently hurt. He'd been preparing to lodge a stringent objection, but Kahrag's challenge spoiled that.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Chekov held out his arm.

"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore," he recited as the extractor was positioned over a vein. "So do our minutes hasten to their end;

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In successive toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light,

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,

And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,

And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand."

"A very sober verse," Kahrag said, nodding approvingly as the interrogator removed the extractor.

Krossoro only snorted.

"What?" Kahrag asked him in their native tongue. "Does he not speak the piece well?"

The interrogator rolled his eyes at his comrade as he reached for a different instrument. "Any other man would have this pretty slut occupied with nothing more taxing than figuring out how best to fit a warrior's cock down his throat," he said, opening Chekov's mouth with his thumb and inserting a probe. "Only you would have a bedwarmer lisping lines from the K'Spereian."

Kahrag shrugged. "If he can't swallow, what's the point?"

"Of having him learn poetry?" Krossoro replied dryly, picking up a different instrument. "I do not know."

Kahrag smiled at the way his captive bit at his luscious lower lip when the interrogator turned his head to examine his ears. "You don't have my love of literature, cousin."

"I'm glad," Krossoro said, tilting the Human's head upwards to examine his admittedly attractive brown eyes. "My life is complicated enough."

He put an instrument to the navigator's nose and held it there an uncomfortably long time.

"How is he in bed?" Krossoro asked, discarding the probe.

"Beyond compare." Kahrag watched as his captive was turned to face him. While the interrogator scanned and tested the muscles of his lower back, the Human kept his eyes lowered. His cheeks and upper chest were pink from his displeasure at being handled so. "He complains of soreness. Constantly."

"He *will* be sore," Krossoro said, crossing to his instruments.

"Will be?"

"After you beat him for lying," the interrogator drawled, showing his comrade a panel of readings. "There's no physical trauma and his pain levels are well within tolerance." He shook a warning finger at Kahrag as he gathered his instruments and headed for the bathroom to wash up. "This one is working his pretty white fingers around your balls, gunner."

"He doesn't know how," Kahrag scoffed, saying nothing to his captive who was resolutely not looking at him for permission as he reached for his discarded garments.

"He'll learn quickly if you keep spoiling him," Krossoro asserted from the bathroom. "Listen, I know just the thing to teach the little slut a lesson. There's a potion I've heard of that stimulates production of the secretions that control their sexual impulses. Give him a dose with his food in the morning and by evening, he'll be waiting for you at the door, bare-rumped and whimpering to be used."

Kahrag had to smile at this pleasant image while he watched his charge quickly wriggle into his fine clothing. "I thought you were adamantly against drugging, cousin."

"Well..." The interrogator shrugged as he re-entered the main room. "If you solemnly promise not to ask him any questions while you fuck him, I think I can escape professional dishonor."

"It will be hard for Korzra to find an interrogator, will it not?" Kahrag asked seriously.

"Hard but not impossible," Krossoro replied dourly. "Korzra is Korzra. He'd hire a Romulan to piss on his grandmother if he thought the job required it."

Kahrag frowned and put a hand on his captive's back as the lieutenant bent to put on his boots. "This little one was an officer in their fleet. He's done nothing to deserve being dishonored."

Krossoro nodded. "He is a winsome little slut."

Knowing that the interrogator was as cold-blooded as his profession demanded and had few fine feelings to spare for Terrans, Kahrag recognized the comment as being as close to sympathy for Chekov as Krossoro was going to express.

"Don't worry," the interrogator consoled him. "I'll let you know which unscrupulous dog Korzra picks to do the job. And with these readings, I'll be able to tell you what they'll do and how they'll do it before they themselves decide completely. Your Terran is healthy enough to stand drugging. And he's unlikely to know anything of much interest. I'll see to it he comes through unscathed. You, on the other hand...."

"I survive and thrive," Kahrag said, brushing off his comrade's concern.

"You're out your league, gunner."

"We learn expertise only from challenging a master," Kahrag said, quoting an old proverb as he escorted his friend to the door.

"Who usually hands us our ass on a plate," Krossoro added dourly as he exited. "Take care, cousin."

Chekov watched anxiously as Kahrag closed the door behind his guest. It was impossible to judge what the two Klingons had been discussing. In Klingonese, everything tended to sound like an argument. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Kahrag turned, looked at him for a moment, then sighed deeply. "Yes," he said, crossing to the lieutenant and taking him by the wrist.

The navigator was so alarmed that he didn't resist as the Klingon sat down and drew him into his lap. "Is it serious?"

Kahrag nodded soberly. "Krossoro noticed immediately."

"What?" Chekov asked, feeling his heart beat quicken. "What is the matter with me?"

The Klingon brushed the lieutenant's hair from his face and stroked his cheek. "You're a spoiled little pet."

"What?"

"Shamefully spoiled," Kahrag confirmed. "It was apparent to him right away."

The navigator impatiently tried to wriggle from his grip. "Let me go."

"Shhhh." The Klingon turned his captive's face back towards him. "Are you still too sore for lovemaking?"

"Yes," the lieutenant confirmed without hesitation.

"A little sore?" the Klingon persisted.

"Very," his captive assured him.

Kahrag laughed. "How can you lie so boldly when you know I've just had you examined?"

"Is that what that was for?" Chekov was outraged.

"I want you to be healthy. I do not wish for you to suffer because of my ignorance or neglect. And since I cannot trust you to accurately report your condition..."

The navigator shifted uneasily against Kahrag's thighs. The gentle reproach in the Klingon's eyes made it difficult to remember all the good reasons he had for deceiving his captor. "I may have... overstated at times, " he admitted.

Kahrag lifted his chin. "And is that the behavior of an honorable captive officer or machinations of a spoiled pet?"

Chekov frowned, not liking the answer he came up with. "I do not intend to manipulate you," he said instead.

"Truly? I can think of no other motivation. I know that you do not deny me because you don't enjoy our lovemaking."

"I don't enjoy it," the lieutenant snapped.

"Truly?" Kahrag repeated. He let his hand drift down to the navigator's lap. At the mere touch of the Klingon's fingers, the soft flesh there began to harden obligingly.

Chekov closed his eyes. "It's just an involuntary physical response," he said from between gritted teeth.

Kahrag made no reply. He leaned over and opened a nearby cabinet. Out of it he drew a familiar looking strip of cloth.

The lieutenant stared at the padded gag with trepidation. "What do you intend to do?"

"I intend," Kahrag began, pushing the navigator's hands firmly out of the way before gently forcing his mouth open, "to see if I can train you to be more truthful. For the rest of the evening, you will not be allowed to speak. If you do so, or try to remove the gag, you'll force me to think of a less whimsical punishment. Do you understand?"

Looking into the Klingon's face, the lieutenant decided it would probably be most prudent to take this seemingly harmless first option. He nodded and the gag was inserted.

"There," Kahrag said, tying it firmly in place. "Now there will be no temptation to ...overstate."

When the Klingon's hand moved back down to his groin, Chekov realized that he was in serious trouble. With his ability to speak cut off, there would be nothing to slow his body's -- his damned, treacherous body's -- inevitable capitulation.

He tried glaring defiance at the Klingon, but this only caused Kahrag to lick his lips in anticipation. Keeping one hand on the lieutenant's steadily stiffening erection, he began to unfasten the front of the navigator's tunic.

Chekov breaths began to come short and fast as the Klingon teased each exposed nipple to hardness. The lieutenant reflected distractedly that all of his new clothes seem to share the characteristic of being very easy to remove.

Kahrag nudged the lieutenant's head back so he could kiss his captive's throat while he removed the soft boots. After the pants were pushed aside, he moved down to give the lieutenant's freed erection a dozen welcoming licks. He then pulled his half-naked captive astride his thighs and set him to unfastening his vest. This gave Kahrag an opportunity to kiss that lovely white neck and caress that firm backside uninterrupted for a few moments. He chuckled to feel the way his captive flinched when a fingertip brushed his anus. "Patience, my sweet."

The lieutenant looked up at him pleadingly.

Seeing that his charge required further guidance, Kahrag directed the Human's hands to his belt and supervised the unfastening of it before moving on to his pants. His captive flinched again at the size of the erection hiding beneath his clothing.

"Are you timid or eager, my precious one?" the Klingon purred into the lieutenant's ear before reaching for the container of lubricant within the cabinet.

He smeared his charge's hands with the gel, then set them to work on his cock. His captive rested his head on the Klingon's shoulder, pumping steadily, and leaning in as gentle fingers were inserted inside him. When he deemed all things in readiness, Kahrag lifted the Human from his lap, turned him, then carefully positioned the lieutenant on the head of his cock and lowered him onto it.

Muffled groans came from behind the gag. The Human gripped the arms of the chair convulsively as he was settled into place. Keeping one arm around his captive and one arm on the chair for support, Kahrag lifted himself slightly and began to thrust slowly. The lieutenant moaned and arched. Soon the navigator's hips were rocking in the rhythm the Klingon had set, lifting and settling on the cock that was only half its length inside him.

"Do you want more?" Kahrag whispered.

When his captive was seized with indecision, the Klingon pushed the top of his head to start it nodding. Keeping his charge firmly impaled throughout, he lowered the Human to the floor, setting him on his knees and elbows. Once positioned, he began to fuck his darling in earnest, deepening his thrusts with each stroke. Those sweet young buttocks were now completely open to him. He pounded them gratefully, reaching around to grasp the Human's erection. It was oddly pleasant to control himself with the discipline it took to withhold his climax until he felt the lieutenant's first orgasmic shudders. He came inside his captive with a shout of joy. This startled his partner, causing him to clench again gloriously.

When Kahrag finally withdrew, the lieutenant slumped to the floor bonelessly. The Klingon looked at his hands still covered with the juices of the lieutenant's pleasure. He smeared them against his bare chest, reveling in the warmth and rapturous smell. Noticing his captive's breathing was sounding labored, he removed the gag. Chekov panted helplessly as Kahrag lifted him into his arms and carried him into the bathroom. He set the controls on the shower, kissed his charge and set him inside.

'Well,' was the navigator's only coherent thought as the cleansing waves revived him, 'at least that's over.'

Kahrag, however, was waiting for him when the shower controls clicked off. The Klingon was washed, clothed, and waiting for the lieutenant with a robe... and the gag.

Feeling too weary and numb for protest, the navigator submitted to being draped in Kahrag's oversized robe. He was taken to the kitchen and given a glass of water and a piece of fruit. The Klingon prepared himself a bowl of grains and vegetables. The two ate in silence.

"Come here," Kahrag ordered, pushing himself back from the table when he was done.

Chekov obeyed hesitantly, keeping the robe clutched together with one hand.

The Klingon smiled and put a hand around the navigator's neck. "This is very peaceful, is it not?" he asked, but disallowed his captive's response by pulling him into a deep kiss. When it was completed, he took a corner of the robe Chekov was wearing and used it to dry his captive's lips before replacing the gag and tying it in place.

"Go rinse these," he commanded, handing the Human his plate and glass.

'I have gone insane,' Chekov decided, carrying the dishes to the sink while Kahrag stepped into the other room. This conclusion was based not so much on the fact that he was voluntarily washing dishes with a gag in his mouth, but more because he was voluntarily washing dishes with a gag in his mouth and not feeling very bad about the situation at all.

Being denied permission to speak was strangely relieving. It removed the constant pressure of having to protest circumstances over which he obviously had no control.

'This is a very dangerous state of mind,' the lieutenant warned himself. Still he was not able to shake his lingering passivity as the Klingon returned to stand beside him.

Kahrag kissed him on the temple. "We had a very quiet dinner, didn't we?" he asked rhetorically. "I favor this room. The light glows in here. Do you not find it pleasant?"

Chekov felt oddly light. There was no burden to agree or disagree.

The Klingon put an arm around his waist. "The rays from the sunset are beautiful."

As they stood together silently appreciating the dying light streaming into the courtyard, Kahrag caressed the navigator's thigh and hips.

'I can't believe he's ready to screw me again,' the lieutenant thought as his captor began to draw up the back of the robe. 'He's not Human.'

As the Klingon fondled his exposed rump, Chekov found to his surprise that he himself was quite ready to be screwed again. 'I've gone completely insane,' he decided leaning forward in response to Kahrag's gentle pressure against his back and spreading his legs.

The Klingon waved off the lights and opened the jar of lubricant he'd gone to the other room to fetch. He unfastened his pants and prepared his charge quickly.

Chekov bit down on the gag as he was penetrated. Once he was inside, the Klingon's haste vanished. He treated his captive to long slow thrusts. The lieutenant continued to stare out the window sightlessly as the Klingon's big cock moved inside him. On Kahrag's deepest thrusts, he could feel the material of the gunner's pants brush his thighs. Chekov couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex with someone who'd remained almost fully dressed while he was this close to being naked. It made him feel even further out of control.

His body, traitorous as always, began to writhe and undulate in appreciation of each expertly placed stroke. The Klingon took one of the lieutenant's hands and placed it behind him on his captor's rocking hip. To the Russian's disgust, his other hand soon joined the first and soon both were caressing Kahrag's powerful gluteal muscles as the gunner slowly fucked him closer and closer to sheer madness.

The Klingon thrust hard, ground against him, and then suddenly withdrew.

"Go to the bed," he ordered, pulling the robe from him, turning him in the right direction, and propelling him forward with a sharp swat to his throbbing rump.

The lieutenant obeyed as if on strings. Unsure of what position would be required of him, he crouched on the mattress uncertainly. The gunner followed, stripping away his own clothing as he approached and adding lubricant to his cock.

"Here you go, my pretty," he crooned, laying down on his back and holding his arms out for the navigator.

Chekov straddled him unhesitatingly. He had absolutely no thought except a burning desire to get the Klingon inside him again as quickly as possible. Kahrag reached up and removed the gag as the lieutenant carefully lowered himself onto the Klingon's stiffened organ. Chekov sighed his relief and began to work that rock-hard cock against his prostate.

The gunner put his hands on the lieutenant's hips to slow his increasingly violent thrashing. "Shhhh, dear one," he chided. "You must wait for me."

Chekov blinked at him blankly, his cheeks flushed with arousal, his mouth open and panting.

"You must learn to stay yourself until I too am ready to come," Kahrag ordered softly.

This was more than the lieutenant's overloaded brain circuits could comprehend. If the Klingon wanted to climax when he did, he needed to do so quickly -- that's all there was to it. With each stroke making him more desperate, the lieutenant remembered a trick that had worked on Sulu. Chekov silently coaxed the gunner to put his knees up. Resting back against the Klingon's thighs, he reached behind him and caressed Kahrag's balls. Smiling with confidence as he felt the gunner jump in response, he quickly sucked on a finger. It was a stretch to reach Klingon's anus from this position, but just the barest tip of wetted fingertip inside did the trick. He happily rode the storm of Kahrag's climax to his own jetting blast of orgasm, then collapsed on the Klingon's heaving golden chest.

"You continue to surprise me, Human," the gunner groaned after a few moments. He rolled the sated navigator off and over to his side.

The lieutenant responded with nothing more than a sleepy grunt.

Kahrag kissed the sweaty neck as he hugged his weary captive to his chest. "I hope," he whispered, "that this will be sufficient to instruct you on the truth of what you do or do not enjoy." He paused and considered. "If not, I will stand ready to try again to prove it to you... many, many times."


	3. Chapter 3

Chekov awoke the next morning in the Klingon's arms. Vague memories filtered back to him of his conduct on the previous evening. As his recollection cleared, he pulled himself free and sat up in bed.

"Kahrag." The damned Klingon was, of course, already awake. The lieutenant was beginning to wonder if the gunner slept more than a few hours a night. "I.. last night, I..." the Russian began with some difficulty. "Last night, I completely lost control of myself. I am most sorry and promise that it will not happen again."

Kahrag grinned. "Oh yes," he said, catching the lieutenant around the waist. "Yes, it will."

Clamping a hand around the navigator's mouth, he pulled his captive to him and reached for the gag. Although Chekov struggled, the Klingon was able to pin him down with his body and tie the gag in place with one hand and his teeth. Determined not to be lulled into dangerous passivity once more, the lieutenant fought back. Ultimately, his best efforts were insufficient to prevent him from being placed across the Klingon's lap. Kahrag held his wrists together with one hand and reached for the lubricant with the other.

"I see you require a continuation of the training I began last night," the gunner said, caressing his captive's squirming bottom. He waited for the Human to still before firmly inserting a finger. "You are most stubborn on the subject of your desires," Kahrag lectured as he stretched and prepared his charge, "but you will find that I am a persistent and avid instructor."

With very little real resistance, Chekov was repositioned face down with his hips propped up on a pillow. The lieutenant felt his hands being placed on his own buttocks. Under the Klingon's guidance, he assisted in spreading himself.

Chekov bit down on the gag as he was opened and penetrated. Under the Klingon's big cock there seemed to be no option other than complete submission. It filled and controlled him. Despite everything, he was once more in the midst of being expertly seduced by someone who knew his body better than he did.

Once the lieutenant had resigned himself to the situation, his body, perfidious as ever, began to relax and dare to enjoy. His hips began to thrust wantonly and his back arched to facilitate penetration. At the completion of a very thorough and workmanlike fuck, the lieutenant came obediently into his captor's hand -- as usual. Kahrag rose, bathed, dressed, and left him drained and thoroughly disgusted with himself.

'Job one,' the lieutenant thought, finally dragging himself out of bed, 'Today I figure out a way to never be gagged again.'

***

Several hours later and no closer to a solution, the navigator was watering his captor's plants.

"Hello!" Geshas called from next door. "Haven't seen you in a long time."

"No, I've..." Chekov paused, embarrassed that his neighbor probably had a very accurate idea of his primary occupation for the past few days. "...not been out."

Geshas smiled. "Good. I'm glad your master is still pleased with you."

"He's not my master," the lieutenant reminded the slave.

The youth shrugged and opened the door to his backyard enclosure. He crossed and stood expectantly by the entrance to Kahrag's.

"I'm locked in," Chekov apologized.

"Oh." Geshas tilted his head sympathetically. "Well, if you behave yourself, you'll be let off probation soon. Kahrag's not unreasonable."

The lieutenant chose not to comment on this assertion.

"You've been having a lot of visitors," the slave observed.

"Yes, I'm being tutored in Klingonese."

"Not that one." Geshas gestured impatiently. "Everyone already knows about Kboexi's interest in you. I was curious about your guest yesterday afternoon."

Chekov frowned and wondered who "everyone" was. "The doctor?"

The slave laughed at him.

"What did I say?"

Geshas shook his head. "I've heard Special Forces interrogators called many things, but never doctor."

***

"I thought he was a doctor..."

"We Klingons do not have doctors in the same way you Humans do," Kboexi explained. "A battalion might carry a field medic or two, but in the main, we do not have a medical profession."

"What do you do about serious illnesses?"

"We either die or get well." Seeing that the Human was agitated and restless, the Vixharth suggest an outing, "I've already cleared it with Kahrag," he assured him, "he was quite cheerful about agreeing."

'I bet he was,' Chekov though wryly and rose to follow Kboexi to the airlimo.

"Am I going to be interrogated?" he asked.

"Yes," Kboexi could see no reason to lie to him, "but I did not think it would be so soon."

"I see," Chekov said grimly. "Are you going to conduct..."

"No, no, child, this is not my idea."

Chekov felt strangely relieved to hear this: "Then who is going to conduct it?"

"I've no idea. But I assure you, Lieutenant, you will not be damaged..."

"This time," Chekov finished darkly for him.

Kboexi damped down his annoyance, "Or ever. You are valuable as a hostage. We would not be so stupid as to damage you and then try to trade you for one of ours. This interrogation will simply confirm what is suspected: that you know nothing of military importance. The Enterprise is a research vessel," Kboexi reminded himself that it was 'research vessel' with planet destroying capabilities, "you were merely a navigator on it, you probably don't know anything very interesting to the Intelligence Unit."

"Korzra," Chekov murmured. "If it's not you, it's Korzra, isn't it?"

"Yes," Kboexi cursed the little Human's intelligence, "yes, his department, at least."

"What will they do?" the Russian asked quietly.

Kboexi sighed, "It will be a chemical interrogation. You will be drugged with a truth serum and questioned." He met the Human's surprisingly steady gaze and reminded himself that this was indeed a Starfleet officer before him. "Kahrag and I will monitor the proceedings from another room. You will not be injured, Chekov, I swear that on my honor as a Klingon."

Chekov nodded, knowing that actually meant something and looked out the window. "When will I be interrogated?"

"I've no idea." Kboexi suddenly wondered why neither Kahrag nor Korzra had mentioned sending an interrogator to examine Chekov. Why would they examine him at home and not in the Interrogation holding cell? "This interrogator came with Kahrag?"

"No, a few minutes later. What is that over there?"

"A hunting lodge, I think." Kboexi leaned over his pupil's shoulder. "What did your visitor look like?"

Chekov described Krossoro to a tee.

Kboexi stared hard out his own window, wondering what the hell Kahrag was up to bringing Krossoro into this. "What did they talk about?"

"I don't know, I could not understand them."

"No, you would not if they were speaking their K'ptcki creole. Kahrag and Krossoro come from the same region in the north, possibly the same town."

"Who is Krossoro?" Chekov asked quietly, not wishing to break Kboexi's confessional mood.

The Klingon gave him a sly look, "Aren't you more interested in where your *host* comes from, Human?"

"But of course," Chekov assured him prettily.

"Hrmp," Kboexi observed as the limo glided to a halt in a meadow. "Let's stretch our legs before I tell you of those mighty northern men of yore, whose deeds are nightmares for their foes and legend in the minds of all," he recited in vernacular Klingonese.

Chekov stepped from the vehicle and feeling the grass beneath his feet and the wind on his cheek, he began to walk, leading the Vixharth. Then to trot, Kboexi keeping pace, then to run and jump as if he were free for a moment. Breathing hard he turned to find the Klingon had kept pace with him. "Did you think I was running away?" he asked boldly in Klingonese.

"No, but you are so lovely when your spirit surges to the surface... I did not want to miss a moment of it."

Chekov lowered his eyes and took a step back.

"Well," Kboexi sighed, "that would be the second stupid thing I've said today."

"What was the first?" Chekov asked, looking up at him.

"Telling you would be interrogated. I see it has upset you."

Chekov nodded. "Yes, of course. Put yourself in my place for one moment and..."

"Yes," the Vixharth silenced him with a gentle finger on the Russian's soft lips, "Yes, I understand," he murmured in Klingonese.

Chekov realized with a small start that they had been speaking Klingonese since leaving the limo. He moved back from Kboexi's finger, "Tell me about the mighty northern men, did you say?"

"I did say," Kboexi stroked the Human's cheek before lowering his hand, "Northerners are tough, smart and hard to kill, the saying goes. The winters are savage there, it requires skill and luck to survive them. There is a legend that an ice goddess was impregnated by a star and gave birth to three demons. These demons formed slaves from the bark of the Kr tree. In time the slaves grew rebellious and killed their demon masters. The leaders of this rebellion were the founders of our civilization." Noting that Chekov was following the story, Kboexi nodded his approval and continued, "Of course the first Klingons moved south as quickly as possible. Life in the north is hard. Kahrag is from there, if that explains anything, and so is Krossoro."

"And who is Krossoro?" Chekov asked.

"He is one of our best interrogators," Kboexi told him, "he has a profound understanding of pain, other's pain, their limits and vulnerabilities. He is so good, sometimes he can extract information by just showing the subject the instruments." He watched Chekov fail to suppress shudder and wondered just what had happened last night. "But he would never dishonor himself to conduct a chemical interrogation so I don't know why he was looking at you." 'Unless Kahrag is up to something and I don't doubt it,' he finished to himself. "What did he do to you?"

"He examined me, Kahrag told me..." Chekov blew out a steadying breath, "...told me that he was concerned because..."

"Because...?" the Klingon prompted, sensing this was not a lack of vocabulary hesitation.

"Because I am often sore after..."

"After...?"

"...After Kahrag has sex with me," the navigator finished firmly.

"And are you?" Kboexi was surprised. Kahrag was a brute in battle but reputed to be gentle with tender creatures. Certainly the Human was in the latter category.

"Really, your grace," Chekov admonished.

Kboexi turned this over in his mind. "This is what you've been telling Kahrag and Krossoro made a liar out of you, didn't he?"

Chekov nodded; well, it was true. Hearing the Vixharth laughing softly, he shot him a look from under lowered lashes.

"Kahrag wouldn't bring Krossoro into this just for that, Human," Kboexi took hold of Chekov's chin and raised the Terran's beautiful eyes to him. "Your *lover,* Kahrag, is as smart as the demons his people overthrew."

***

"There is nothing to tell you; nothing is settled, stop squirming," Kahrag was holding Chekov on his lap. He'd come home deeply annoyed from a very tense interview with Kboexi. The Vixharth had turned up in his last lecture and the gunner had dismissed his cadets to find out what the Klingon wanted. The ensuing conversation had been civil but terse. His entrance at home had been greeted with a chair flung at his head. He had almost forgotten the temper this Human had. "I'm surprised you can ask Kboexi questions with his cock in your mouth," Kahrag said, hoping to divert the Human's rage. He pinned Chekov's arms to his side and wrapped his legs around the struggling Human's. Kahrag's balls were smarting from the well placed blow Chekov had landed before Kahrag realized the enraged Human was fighting like the trained warrior he was. "All right, all right. I'll tell you everything I know if you will just calm down," Kahrag sighed, "please?"

Chekov abruptly ceased struggling; it wasn't doing any good. "Let me up," he commanded.

"Are you calm?"

"Yes. Let me up."

Poised to spring if the Human attacked again, Kahrag released him and watched him sit in a chair opposite.

"Tell me what's going on," Chekov ordered.

"Yes, dear," Kahrag said sarcastically and then sobered: "Korzra wants his department to interrogate you because he does not have the same access to you Kboexi has and that makes the Intelligence Unit look bad. Not that they really need *anything* to *make* them look bad..."

"How do you know this?" Chekov snapped.

"Gossip."

"GOSSIP?"

"Don't underestimate gossip, Human, this is Klingon military. The gossip is usually a full day ahead of orders."

"And what was Krossoro doing here last night?"

"Examining you at my request."

"So you could rape me with peace of mind?" Chekov snarled and knew it was a mistake. He watched Kahrag go very still and the room temperature seem to drop twenty degrees. He held the Klingon's frozen gaze.

"You belong to me, Human," Kahrag said quietly, "what I do with you is of the same merit as how I treat any other *thing* in my possession," he paused to let that sink in, "and you would be wise to remember it."

"I am a hostage here, against my will..."

"That," Kahrag murmured murderously, "is enough."

Still valuing his life enough to heed the warning in the Klingon's tone, Chekov fell silent. He closed his eyes to shut it all out for a moment and leaned wearily back in his chair. He heard Kahrag rise and kneel next to him.

"Do not despair, my pretty one," he said gently, "we have good friends."

Chekov opened his eyes and gave him an ironic look, "Like Krossoro, the Chief Interrogator?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Kahrag said dryly, caressing the lieutenant's silk clad thigh. "He has ascertained that you'll be interrogated in four days, by one of Korzra's more intelligent interrogators, Major Klnta. Krossoro spoke to him last night, not about this but the subject came up. Krossoro tells me that the chemicals and dosage Klnta plans to use will not harm you. You are in good condition and he remixed your nutrient shot so you will have extra seric acid to offset any debilitation from the treatment. You will not have any pain, at worst, when you wake, you will feel as though you had too much wine the night before." Chekov looked away from the concern in the Klingon's eyes. The Klingon pulled his chin back to face him, "Why didn't you ask me about this and not Kboexi? Speak."

Chekov shrugged, "He was here and you were not," he listened to the Klingon's satisfied grunt, "and would you have told me the truth?"

"No," Kahrag said simply, hauling Chekov to his feet by his tunic, "but as your rapist, I've no obligation to tell you anything, have I?" he asked furiously, flinging Chekov onto the bed.

Chekov rolled into a crouch but the Klingon was on him. Hoping to avoid the worst violence, the Russian threw his arms around Kahrag's neck and hung on. "Kahrag... it was... I was..."

"Yes?" Kahrag leaned back, suddenly all ice again.

Disconcerted, the navigator felt like he was dealing with two different people. The Klingon was big enough to be two people, Chekov thought wildly as Kahrag began to pull his clothes off.

"Do we need the gag again or will you let me 'rape you in peace'?" Kahrag asked sarcastically, tossing Chekov's pants over his shoulder and mauling his penis. "Hmmm?"

Chekov meekly shook his head no.

"Good," Kahrag lowered his lips to the Russian's stiffening cock. He drew the rosy flesh into his mouth a millimeter at a time, pinning Chekov firmly to the bed - the better to tease him. He brought him right to the edge of climax... and stopped. The Klingon rolled away and serenely observed Chekov panting in frustration. "Don't move, Human," the gunner growled, removing his shirt and boots. He took off his heavy leather belt and wrapped it securely around Chekov's waist. He lay next to his charge and idly watched the Human's cock soften. Deciding to test a theory, Kahrag rose and removed his pants. He sat cross legged on the bed and, grasping his belt around the Human's waist, pulled Chekov across his lap face down. He briefly caressed the firm mounds of the navigator's ass before raising his hand.

Chekov managed to say "what are you...?" before for the first stinging blow cut him off. In pain, he tried to squirm away from the hard slaps evenly applied to each buttock but he was held fast by the belt around his waist. He was even more horrified when he cock began to harden and he prayed that Kahrag could not feel it.

Of course the Klingon could feel it, Chekov's cock was stiffening against his thigh. He kept up his even handed spanking until he judged the Human was about to come and then stopped. He rolled Chekov off his lap and reached across him for the lubricant. "Rape, Human? That'd make the Vulcans laugh."

Chekov had rolled away from him, trying desperately but uselessly to hide his erection.

Kahrag simply hauled him up on all fours by the belt around his waist and held him there as he roughly shoved in three greasy fingers. Taking a firm hold on the belt with both hands and centering his cock, the Klingon gently popped the head inside. Pausing to wait for some signal within himself, Kahrag then hauled Chekov back onto the full length of his cock with one, hard yank.

Chekov gasped more in surprise than in discomfort. He bit his lower lip as the Klingon thrust him forward and jerked him back again and again. Because Kahrag never took his hands off the wide leather belt, Chekov was mortified when he came, and came hard, simply from the Klingon fucking him hard.

Grunting in amusement, Kahrag held Chekov impaled on his cock and sat back on his heels. He draped the Human across his chest and caressed him back to full hardness. He put his lips to the little, shell like ear and whispered, "You little slut, you pretty little slut," he chanted as he began to bounce Chekov on his cock.

Hearing himself insulted, Chekov had tried to thrash free but he was firmly held by the belt. Held and manipulated.

Feeling his captive clenching in incipient orgasm, Kahrag put his hand over the spewing head of Chekov's penis and smeared the Human's cum all over the Human's face, forcing it into his mouth, his hair. Deciding he'd made his point, Kahrag bounced his pet once, twice more on his erection and came. He did not linger and shoving Chekov off his now soft cock, rolled onto his back and stretched voluptuously. "Where are you going?" he growled at Chekov, who had half risen.

"To bathe."

"No you're not," Kahrag watched his captive sink back down, "I want you to sleep like that. If you try to bathe again, you'll spend the night chained to the kitchen table."

Not at all sure how serious the Klingon was, Chekov gritted his teeth and got under the covers. He willed himself to go to sleep as quickly as possible. He felt dirty and didn't want to think about it for a moment longer.

Kahrag watched him sleep for awhile, musing on the time tested effectiveness of a little judiciously applied and well timed force. He dropped off, looking forward to fucking Chekov awake the next morning.

***

Chekov had tried to stay asleep but Kahrag sliding his slick cock into him woke him. He hid his grimace in the pillow and tried to ignore it. This seemed to be fine with the Klingon at first, but towards the end, as he was nearing his own climax, Kahrag reached beneath him and jerked him into a simultaneous orgasm.

"Your body is smarter than you are, my prize," Kahrag snarled sarcastically as he roughly pulled out. He didn't say another word to the Human as he bathed and dressed, but slammed the door behind himself as he left.

Sometime later Chekov dragged his aching body out of bed and soaked it in a tub of the hottest water he could stand. He reproached himself for provoking Kahrag - it had been a miscalculation, a bad one. He now realized how bad things could get if Kahrag turned on him. He rightly surmised that the previous night's treatment had been mild compared to what the Klingon was probably capable of. 'I have no choice but to submit,' he could not get that and 'you pretty little slut,' out of his head as he numbly tidied up the scene of last nights debauch. 'Kahrag's debauch of me,' he reminded himself. It did not make him feel better.

***

Kboexi was late.

Chekov looked down and found that he was wringing his hands nervously. He picked up a reader to still them. Deciding that the last thing he wanted to do was to discuss the events of the previous evening with the Vixharth, the lieutenant had carefully prepared for this lesson. The house was in order. The tea was already set on the table. Chekov had read ahead in the text and prepared a barrage of questions and comments with which to occupy his tutor. Everything was set to look perfectly normal.

But Kboexi was late.

Paranoid notions about his approaching interrogation began to creep into the navigator's mind. Looking at his hands again, Chekov discovered that he was clutching the reader so tightly his knuckles were going white -- at least those parts that weren't tattooed. He put the text down and looked at the lettering on the backs of his hands. He could now make out all the characters on his right. Printed there was a meaningless alphanumeric code that could be used to trace him. On the left were two symbols. Kboexi had told him that the first was Kahrag's unique rune. The other, he'd said, was an occupational designation. When pressed, the Klingon noble had admitted that it meant "concubine."

"Kahrag's slut," the lieutenant read to himself.

The door opened. The navigator hastily composed his features only to find that the gunner instead of the Vixharth was entering.

"You are the picture of studiousness, my prize," the Klingon said pleasantly as he crossed to remove his weapons. "If only I had been greeted with such acquiescence yesterday..."

"Where's Kboexi?"

"He had pressing business," Kahrag answered. "Your lesson for today is cancelled. I should think you'd be glad for the rest. Your brain must be bursting with declining nouns and interrogative verbs by now."

Chekov only blinked at him.

"Well, cheer up," the Klingon said, taking the reader from his hands and patting his head. "Your admirer will be back to you soon."

"Something's happened," the lieutenant concluded, distrusting the gunner's glibness. "Has the interrogation been moved forward?"

Now it was Kahrag's turn to blink. "You are a clever little creature," he said, sighing and sitting down in a chair adjacent to the navigator's. "No, the interrogation date has not changed -- to my knowledge. Klnta was officially assigned today. Kboexi wished to interview him. That was his pressing business."

Chekov nodded. "Did you speak to him?"

"No." Kahrag leaned back and crossed his hands over his stomach. "I did not have the opportunity. My classes were cancelled so I could attended a lecture on the importance of not interfering with the Intelligence Division's ongoing investigations."

Despite the several reasons he could have, Chekov could not quite muster any sympathy for the gunner.

"My friend Krossoro is not very pleased with me either," the Klingon continued. "He has been assigned to assist Klnta -- whom he despises -- on a project he abhors."

The lieutenant frowned, not remembering the interrogator to be a particularly sympathetic seeming character. "He doesn't wish to interrogate me?"

"He feels drugging is a dishonorable technique for information gathering. His recommendation was for use of a mindscanner."

Chekov smiled humorlessly. "I see what sort of a devoted supporter of me he is."

"You'll be taken in tomorrow for a preliminary examination," Kahrag said, trying to make it sound casual. "It will be no more than Krossoro did here."

The lieutenant nodded again. "And while I stand there stripped and shivering, how many Klingons will be poking and prodding me?"

Kahrag sighed and shook his head. "Who knows?" he said rising. "Something less than a thousand. Come. Let's go."

"Where?"

"I have the afternoon off, but you are clearly in no mood to amuse me." The gunner quickly replaced the weapons he'd removed. He then took a cloak out of a locker and tossed it to the navigator. "We'll go out."

***

They ended up in a grimy looking tavern near the Imperial Training Institute. It was an odd looking place with crudely drawn color murals of unfamiliar landscapes and Klingons cavorting in strange costumes covering the walls. Strange odors assaulted the lieutenant as Kahrag led him to a booth in the back.

After some initial curiosity, the few other patrons dismissed the Human's incongruous presence.

Kahrag was entering his order into an ancient-looking data entry pad attached to the table.

"I want something to drink," Chekov requested.

"I've ordered water for you."

"If I'm going to face the interrogators tomorrow," the lieutenant replied, "I'd like to be drunk tonight."

The gunner made a face, but amended his order.

Chekov's attention was captured by movement on the tier above them. An old Klingon in a black costume was setting up what looked like a display of dolls in front of a painted backdrop. "What's that?"

Kahrag twisted in his seat. "An amusement for the idle."

The old Klingon stepped forward and called down to the crowd, "The innkeeper's daughter tricks the lazy warrior." After this peculiar announcement, he pulled a dark veil over his face and stepped behind the display of dolls. The dolls were about a foot tall, brightly painted and costumed. They seemed to be puppets of some sort, for when the old Klingon put his hand to the back of two of them, they began to jerk mechanically. The puppeteer spoke in a strange singsong voice, changing his pitch to differentiate between the characters.

Chekov couldn't understand any of it. "Is that in dialect?"

"No. It's a foolish language meant to amuse." Kahrag turned back to the table. "The stories are so familiar, no one needs to hear the words. They say a prudent man will put down the bottle when the Gbexi dolls begin to speak plainly to him."

The lieutenant was silently amazed that the two of them could still have anything that approached a normal conversation. He turned his attention back to the puppets. From the movement of the dolls, the story seemed to be a ribald one. The lazy warrior kept finding ways to slip his hands inside the female doll's garments.

Not finding this to be particularly pleasant subject matter, the navigator was glad when their food arrived. It was delivered by the first female he'd seen in days. She was gap-toothed hag who snarled at him when she approached the table. After banging a few steaming plates down and receiving some coins for her pains from Kahrag, she snapped her teeth at the Human fiercely.

"She doesn't think it's polite for you to stare at her," the gunner explained, as the waitress retreated, still snarling.

"Oh." Chekov watched the Klingon parcel out the plates of food.

"There isn't much that you can eat here," Kahrag said, taking the lion's share for himself and leaving the lieutenant only a small serving of a crisp flat bread and some fruit.

"Most of it looks as though it's already been eaten at least once before," Chekov commented, not coveting the evil smelling meat dishes the gunner was downing with relish. The lieutenant picked up his glass of llarth and downed as much of the fiery liquid as he could in one gulp.

"What are you doing?" Kahrag asked, grabbing his elbow.

"Drinking."

"You're supposed to eat first."

The lieutenant shrugged. "I'd rather drink."

The Klingon took the glass from his hand and shoved the plate of food towards him. "Do as you're told," he advised around a mouthful of his own meal.

The navigator took a bite of fruit and another of the flat bread to appease his captor before reaching for his glass again. Taking slow sips of the liquor, he turned his attention back to the puppet show. The lazy warrior was now molesting a goatish creature dressed similarly to the female puppet. Apparently the innkeeper's daughter had gotten her revenge. A few of the patrons were laughing at the dolls' antics. When the little drama was complete, the puppeteer stepped forward and raised his veil.

"Sloth pleases the fool," he called to the crowd, in case they'd missed the lesson of the story.

Chekov nibbled at a crisp wafer of sour bread as he watched the puppeteer set up for his next performance. Glancing at the gunner, who was now fully engrossed in his meal, the lieutenant nonchalantly reached for the bottle of llarth and refilled his glass.

The puppeteer's next story featured animal characters and called for a change of backdrop. When he was ready, the old Klingon stepped forward. "The Greedy Napan Seals His Own Doom," he said, calling the title down to the patrons.

Kahrag caught Chekov's wrist as the navigator went for a third serving of llarth. "You shouldn't worry so about the interrogation," he admonished, moving the bottle of spirits away and refilling the lieutenant's glass with water.

Chekov downed it like it was good vodka. It tasted of faintly of llarth. "No," he said, reaching for the bottle again. "Nothing to worry about. Afterwards I'll just be a traitor... as well as a slut."

Kahrag stopped him and refilled his glass with water once more.

The lieutenant traced a copy of one of the symbols on his left hand in the droplets of liquid on the table top. "You know," he began, "I've always been told I was too hot-blooded. Everyone warned me it would lead to no good." The Russian gave a humorless laugh. "I doubt that even the most pessimistic of them envisioned that I'd wind up as a Klingon's fucking-toy, though."

The last phrase he'd said in Klingonese. Kahrag frowned at him around a mouthful of food. "That is an exceedingly rude term. It's improper for you to use."

Chekov shrugged. "Geshas says his master calls him that quite frequently."

Kahrag shook his head and handed the lieutenant more of the crispy wafers. "I do not wish to hear you to use it again."

The navigator ignored the food in favor of the series of copies of the rune on his left hand he was making. He surveyed them with satisfaction when they were complete. "Slut, slut, slut, slut, slut," he read them off.

Kahrag irritably wiped the characters away with a quick stroke of his hand. "Be silent," he ordered, turning back to his meal. "Watch the dolls and do not vex me further."

The parable about the goatish creatures had been completed and the puppeteer was setting up for his next show. The background for this one was a dark blue night sky. The old Klingon activated a lighting unit that shone down on the setting before stepping forward. "The Foolish Warrior Tries to Enslave a...."

"What?" Chekov hadn't understood that last words of the title.

"A moon sprite," Kahrag explained in Standard. "It's an imaginary creature who lives in the light of the moon. It's an old folktale."

This production involved use of a special effect. A very small doll descended from near the light source on wires -- or so the lieutenant assumed. It was somehow worked by remote control. The puppeteer was not in contact with it. He was busy controlling the warrior doll who rolled his eyes comically, clicked his lips, and began to make the same amorous noises he'd made earlier to the innkeeper's daughter.

Trying to figure out how the sprite was being controlled, Chekov watched with interest as the warrior puppet pursued it. After managing to evade for a while, the sprite was captured. The Klingon doll made joyous grunts as it kissed and caressed its prize. The lieutenant frowned as the protesting sprite was put in a box. After laying the warrior puppet down to sleep with a hand protectively around the sprite's container, the puppeteer turned and adjusted the lighting. The light that had been the moon faded while an orange colored light brightened on the backdrop from behind. As the orange light glowed steadily brighter, what had been a night sky when lit from the front took on the colors of dawn when lit from the back.

The warrior puppet awoke under the puppeteer's hands. Rolling his eyes and clapping his hands, the Klingon doll eagerly opened the box. It was empty.

The puppeteer stepped forward and announced, "Lust blinds the fool."

Kahrag cleared his throat uncomfortably, as he pushed aside the remnants of his meal. "As I said," he rasped, rising and motioning for the lieutenant to follow, "it is only a foolish entertainment."

***

Neither of them was in particularly high spirits when they arrived at Kahrag's dwelling.

"Undress and lie on the bed," the Klingon ordered brusquely after removing his captive's cloak.

Chekov did as he was ordered, feeling as mechanical as one of the puppeteer's dolls. He was in the midst of wondering about Kahrag's plans for the evening when the gunner opened a jar of lubricant and set it down by the bed. With all doubt removed, the navigator numbly finished taking off his clothing. He lay down on his stomach, burying his head in a pillow. When he heard the Klingon approach, he closed his eyes.

The lieutenant flinched involuntarily when his captor's hand rested on his backside.

"You're marked," Kahrag observed, sounding surprised.

"What?"

"It seems I was more violent with you than I intended," the Klingon said, running a light hand down the navigator's hips. "Your fine skin discolors easily."

'So,' the lieutenant thought bitterly, 'He abuses me and it's my fault if I bruise.'

Kahrag left him to retrieve something from the other room. When he returned, the Klingon began to silently rub ointment onto the afflicted areas.

Chekov remembered the smell of the stuff from the warship when he'd originally been captured. Those events stood clear in his mind. The rest of his life seemed like a watery illusion in comparison. It was as if everything that had ever happened to him was only an inconsequential prelude to his current disgraceful fate.

Despite his numbness and the aching in his limbs, the lieutenant felt himself begin to harden in response to his captor's touch. Self-loathing flooded through him so strongly that it brought tears to his eyes. He held his breath to suppress this weakness, but he was too late. A silent sob shook his frame.

"What ails you, Human?" The Klingon rolled him over curiously.

Chekov squeezed his eyes closed tightly in a futile attempt to prevent the excess moisture from escaping.

"Oh, my prize," Kahrag sighed, drawing the lieutenant into his arms.

Chekov held onto him because there seemed to be absolutely nothing else for him to hold on to.

The Klingon stroked the Human's soft hair and skin as his captive cried himself to sleep against his chest, trying hard not to think about the foolish warrior who'd fallen in love with the moon.

***

"Hmm," Chekov said, staring into his locker of clothing. "What does one wear to an interrogation?"

Kahrag pushed past him impatiently and selected a modest costume in the most subdued selection of colors available. "This is not an interrogation."

"Yet," the lieutenant finished for him.

Chekov had showered, taken an extra dose of nutrients, and drunk a good quantity of reviving hot ahmrasine tea this morning. Still, it was hard to muster any enthusiasm about a day whose highlight was going to be a meeting with prospective torturers.

"You worry about this over much," Kahrag chided as his charge slipped into the dark leggings and tunic. "All you must do is endure it bravely, as an officer should."

"An officer." Chekov laughed humorlessly to himself as he pulled on his boots. "I'm surprised you waste time saying that. It would be more efficient to explain to me directly me how spoiled slut is expected to behave."

The Klingon frowned forbiddingly. "I grow weary of your self-pity."

They were interrupted by the doorchime. Kahrag opened the door for a brace of black-clad warriors. "Your hostage is to come with us," their leader announced, drawing a pair of wrist restraints from his belt.

"He'll do as you say," Kahrag assured him, indicating the handcuffs were unnecessary.

"Don't interfere, gunner," the warrior warned as the Human was brought forward and the restraints were clamped onto his wrists.

Feeling a pang of uneasiness, Kahrag watched them hustle Chekov into the back of a van and roar off.

***

"This examination will be conducted when those bruises have healed," Kboexi said in a voice as dead as his eyes. He draped his own cloak around Chekov and carried him to his airlimo.

Chekov had arrived at the Intelligence Unit and found his interrogators in a bare room. Klnta had ordered him to undress while Krossoro silently fumed. The Russian didn't bother to make eye contact with either of them.

"Where are we going, your grace?" Chekov asked at last as the limo cleared the city.

"My estate."

When Chekov was naked, Klnta circled him once and commented on the bruising. "Kahrag must like it rough," he'd surmised. The interrogator turned Chekov toward him and the Klingon's hand strayed to the Human's penis.

"I would take care unless I knew Kahrag was offworld, Klingon," Krossoro growled, "or in hell."

Chekov raised his eyes to Krossoro but that Klingon was fully occupied staring down his colleague. Klnta shrugged and reached for an instrument with the offending hand.

The door had flown open just then and a furious Kboexi had swept him away from the nightmare. The Vixharth had kept Chekov close to him in the limo and the navigator did not try to draw away. They rode in silence for quite awhile over flat, empty land.

A bump on the horizon grew steadily larger. Chekov watched small cities and towns surrounded by cultivated land flash by. He looked out at the sky clamped down on the land, 'like an azure bowl upended,' he remembered learning to recite.

Kboexi's estate seemed to surge up enraged from the plain. Chekov regarded the unfriendly walls as the limo glided into the wide, deserted courtyard, the fortified gates swung shut on the sunlight. 'Puny sunlight,' Chekov thought, 'pathetic and helpless light.'

Turning to help Chekov out of the limo, Kboexi could not fail to notice how small the naked little Human foot was on the stones of his ancestral yard. He lifted Chekov into his arms and carried him into the house. "We seem to have forgotten your clothes, haven't we, Lieutenant?" Kboexi asked deadpan, bearing the Human across his threshold.

Chekov nodded and looked around him. He was set down in a huge but narrow stone hall. The pale sunlight poured in from high windows set in the stone walls. A wide staircase swept steeply up and around the chimney of the huge central hearth. The hall was three stories high and was overlooked by the second story mezzanine and a long balcony on the third level. The Russian could not know that Kboexi's ancestors, failing to withstand a siege, had lured their attackers into this hall and slaughtered them with arrows, spears and boiling oil from the second and third levels. It was one of the brighter moments in the history of Kboexi's family and this sentimental reason was why more practical, not to mention comfortable, living arrangements were never made.

Their unexpected entrance had scattered half a dozen servants. Kboexi seemed unfazed by this and stood patiently next to Chekov, waiting for his household to pull itself together to greet their lord and master. He was used to it; it was part of being a Vixharth. He'd inherited his father's and grandfather's eccentric servants and was waiting for them to die so he could get better ones. Seeing his valet approaching, Kboexi relaxed fractionally. He always felt that all would be well if he could just entrust the details to Tzo. He now turned to entrust Chekov to Tzo. "We have a house guest for a few days," he said serenely, acknowledging Tzo's salute, "Please see to his needs; including clothing."

"Yes, your grace," Tzo's face hardly moved as he spoke. He gestured Chekov to follow and led him up the stairs and into the maze that was the second level of the manse.

'I will never find my way back,' Chekov thought, wishing he'd left a trail of breadcrumbs. He was deposited into a sunny room that overlooked an empty plain. The hard, flat sunlight emphasized the lack of life or movement in the view, it seemed as if even the air was subdued and drained in the colorless light. The navigator pushed away a moment of longing for the golden haze that lit the late afternoons and the creamy morning light in Kahrag's house. Chekov was still wondering why the light here was so different when Tzo returned with a smock and leggings and two old women. Chekov slipped in to the clothes and stood patiently while the women measured off his body in hand lengths and jabbered at each other. He could not understand them, they were speaking the local dialect, not even Kboexi could understand them.

Tzo, however, could understand them. He had been raised in the capital city but had taken the trouble to learn the local language when Kboexi inherited the Vixharthdom. Tzo had come here occasionally with his father, Kboexi's previous valet, now retired, when he was a boy. He had played in these halls and probably knew them better than the Vixharth. It could be said that, in many ways, he knew the Vixharth better than the Vixharth did. So he was quite puzzled to see Kboexi carry this little white creature into the house. Not wishing to jump to the wrong conclusion, Tzo suppressed his pleasure that Kboexi had brought home a new concubine; the last one had committed suicide over four years ago.

Eventually the women ran out of Russian to measure and scuttled away. Tzo asked Chekov if he understood Klingonese and was told 'yes, a little, but please speak slowly.'

"His grace says you may come and go as you please," Tzo showed him the bath and a balcony, "this room is called the bower..." He paused to follow Chekov's gaze to a rich mosaic of a woodland bower opposite the bed. "Yes, that is exactly why this room is called so." 'Intelligent, this one, very,' Tzo mused. "If you lose your way in the house or grounds, ask anyone how to get to the bower and they can tell you." 'Although they will probably show you since these peasants will want to stay in your exotic presence as long as possible.' Tzo began to wonder at the wisdom of bringing the creature here when Kboexi knocked and entered. Tzo effaced himself by the door, present if needed but not obtrusive.

"How are you getting along, Lieutenant?" he asked urbanely in Standard.

"Well, thank you," Chekov glanced at Tzo and, deciding not to acknowledge him, stayed focused on Kboexi, "I've just learned this room is called the bower." He nodded at the mosaic, "It's beautiful."

"Yes," Kboexi agreed, remembering a number of beautiful hours he'd spent in this room, in the bed especially, with lovely creatures. However, at just that moment, he felt merely protective and fond of Chekov, as one would of a clever animal or child. "After you've had a rest, I thought, if you are not still too fatigued from your morning, that we might have our Klingon lesson at the usual time this afternoon, yes?"

"I would like that," Chekov assured him.

"Very well, I'll return for you in an hour or so. Tzo," Kboexi turned to his servant and switched into Klingonese, "be sure there is always fresh water and kessa fruit in this room." He accepted his servant's bow and swept out.

Tzo did not understand Standard but he was impressed with Kboexi's tenderness toward the concubine. Having caught sight of Chekov's hands, Tzo had had his suspicions confirmed that this was indeed a concubine, however, he could not help but wonder why his master had someone named Kahrag's concubine installed in the bower. The Vixharth had given no further instructions aside from those about food and clothing. He had not sent for the tattooist to alter the runes into those of an imperial concubine of this house, nor had he given any instructions that indicated he would be sleeping, among other things, in this room. And yet every Kboexi serving nerve in Tzo's slave body said this was a lover.

***

"Now," Kboexi said, circling the lieutenant's chair, "if you were to see one of those animals, what would you say?"

Chekov studied the picture in the large-screened reader that had been attached to the arm of his throne-like seat. "I see a drigrt," he answered in Klingonese.

"And if you were to see a half dozen?"

The lieutenant sincerely hoped never to find himself face to face with even one of the ferocious looking bison-like beasts. "I see a flock of drigrti."

"Drigrti is the plural form, but you'd call them a pack, not a flock," the Vixharth corrected.

They were carrying on their lesson as usual -- except for the fact it was being conducted in a study large enough to double as a small hangar deck. A three piece orchestra of Kboexi's servants played a soothing concerto from a far corner of the room.

The Vixharth leaned over Chekov's shoulder to change the picture. "And what sort of animal is this?"

"This is a herd of shinxi," the lieutenant reported. "Here is a single shinixt."

The room was done entirely in gray, black, and red. The effect was dramatic, not cozy despite the fireplace that Chekov estimated to take up approximately the same square footage as his cabin on the Enterprise. High above their heads, the walls were covered in rune-covered hangings and impressive displays of exotic weapons.

"Very good." Kboexi settled into a seat opposite the navigator. The Vixharth, who had changed into a tastefully understated black caftan that reminded Chekov of a painting he'd once seen of one of the ancient czars, an Ivan, he thought. Kboexi fitted as naturally into the room as he did in the intricately carved and richly upholstered ebony divan. "And what sort of terrain are they grazing on?"

"Veldt?" the lieutenant guessed.

"It's ertch. In Standard, you would call it tundra."

Chekov had to give a half-smile for this familiar term. He looked at the picture, doubting he'd ever have the chance to see real tundra again.

Kboexi fell silent for a moment, biting the tip of his thumb as he observed the Human. "I know you don't want to discuss this," he began abruptly after a few moments. "But I must rest my mind on one question -- The bruises on your body... I assume Kahrag punished you for something -- Was it because you informed me about Krossoro's visit?"

"No," the lieutenant answered briefly, keeping his eyes on the reader.

The noble wasn't as satisfied with the answer as he thought he'd be. "Oh.... so, he was still displeased because Krossoro revealed that you had been... less than truthful with him about your physical condition?"

Chekov shrugged and changed the page on the reader.

Kboexi blew a frustrated breath out his nostrils. "Well, I hope it was for something more than a damned broken teacup."

The lieutenant glanced at the musicians in the other corner of the room. Without looking away from the navigator, Kboexi lifted his hand and flicked a finger. The music ceased and the servants exited as if they'd been vigilantly anticipating such a cue.

Chekov looked into the Vixharth's expectant face and took a deep breath. "He and I... had a disagreement."

"Which it looks as though you lost."

"Yes." The lieutenant turned back to the reader. "I lost."

Kboexi leaned against the arm of the divan and sighed. "I didn't realize Kahrag's treatment of you had become so..."

"He treats me with no respect." Chekov paged forward in the reader just to have something to do with his eyes and hands. "And when I am with him, there is nothing in my behavior that merits respect."

"Oh, I won't accept that," the Vixharth protested vehemently. When his pupil gave no response, he leaned forward and gently pushed the reader out of the lieutenant's grasp. "Chekov, I know that I'm prying but...." Kboexi paused, then decided that he might as well ask the question he really wanted to. "Before Kahrag, were you a virgin?"

The lieutenant took in a deep breath. He considered the phrase "before Kahrag". Had there really been such a time? "That is a long story."

"I'd like to hear it," the Vixharth invited. "And it may do you some good to tell it."

The navigator sighed and looked at his hands folded in his lap. "Two years ago, I was captured by a Klingon vessel. I was turned over to Kahrag. He'd *won* me for something he'd done..."

"And he raped you?"

"No. He's too clever for that," Chekov reported bitterly. "He claimed I was attracted to him. He said he was waiting for me to seduce him, but all the time he was doing things to me -- trying to seduce me."

Kboexi raised an eyebrow in silent appreciation of the gunner's cunning.

"After I was rescued," the lieutenant continued, feeling as though the story was pouring out of him unstoppably now, "I had nightmares. It was difficult to deal with people. Intimacy with anyone was out of the question." Glancing up at the Vixharth, Chekov decided to leave Spock's name out of the narrative. "Someone on the ship helped me... Did things to make me feel more at ease again."

"And became your lover," Kboexi postulated.

"I realized that I was not as adverse to relationships with men as I had previously thought," the navigator admitted.

"Relationships?" The Vixharth blinked. "So you've had several lovers?"

Chekov could feel himself blush. Looking back on it now, it *had* been a very busy two years. "I've had a few."

"Hmm." Kboexi considered for a moment. "It sounds as though, far from being adverse to sex with men, you've found that you rather enjoy it."

The lieutenant's face went noticeably pinker as he lowered his eyes.

Kboexi knew his next question was rude, but decided the mood of the moment would permit him to ask anyway. "Do you enjoy sex with Kahrag?"

The navigator hung his head. "I shouldn't," he answered in a small, choked voice.

The Vixharth recognized that he'd reached the root of one of his pupil's sources of current misery. Why, he wondered to himself, did relationships always have to be so complex? "Why ever not?" he asked lightly.

"I am his prisoner."

"So? As long as you enjoy it..."

"And because he's a Klingon," Chekov blurted.

The noble cleared his throat. "That seems like rather racist reasoning."

The lieutenant looked up as if suddenly recalling where he was and with whom he was speaking. "I apologize," he said. "There are other things as well." Chekov was embarrassed that no other came to him as quickly. "Why do you ask me this? Would it make a difference if Kahrag had been the first to..."

'Kahrag *was* your first,' Kboexi thought as the lieutenant let his sentence trail off. 'You're just not admitting that yet. Someone else was merely lucky enough to complete the process he'd begun.'

"Sometimes," the Vixharth began aloud, "when an older, more experienced man introduces a young man to certain pleasures -- pleasures that the young man has not yet realized that he is... not adverse to -- there can be..." Kboexi paused and glanced at the spot on his desk where a figurine of a youth used to stand. "...mixed emotions."

***

"We wanna ask you a question."

Chekov stared at the two young assistants Tzo had left in charge of helping him dress. There had been a problem with the fit of one of the garments, and the valet had gone to speak to the seamstresses. Unlike their supervisor, these two adolescent Klingons used non-standard forms and unfamiliar contractions. "What?"

Taking this as assent, the plumper of the two demanded, "What are you?"

"What - are - you." Chekov repeated the words as he tried to make sense of the question.

The tall, thin one handed him a garment made of soft dark material. "You know. You aren't a regular person like us," he said. "You ain't no Klingon."

"I am Human," the lieutenant said, hoping he'd taken the correct drift from the words he could catch. He dubiously eyed the black wool gown the Klingon was shaking out. Of his own choice, he'd be in a smock and leggings but apparently some effort had been put into these clothes on his behalf and he decided he'd better be gracious. These little Klingons, however, were another matter...

"Human?" the plump one repeated, his mouth dropping open. "You're a Terran?"

"Yes." The navigator leaned down so the Klingon could slip the garment over his head. "Terran."

The two pages exchanged looks.

"God's balls," the plump one swore. "I thought they were bigger."

"Why the hell have we been fighting them so long?" the other wondered aloud. "If they're all like this, you and me could beat their asses in two weeks, Bjoz."

Bjoz frowned appraisingly at Chekov as he helped the lieutenant fit his arms into the sleeves. "Maybe this one's a runt. Hey, boy. You a runt, right?"

Once the navigators' head was through the neck of the garment, he looked back and forth between his dressers. "You use words I do not understand," he informed them. "And speak with too much speed."

"He's dumb," Bjoz decided, twitching the long black skirts around Chekov's legs.

"Good thing someone likes his looks," his companion agreed, wrapping a wide belt in soft black hide around Chekov's waist. Fastening it into place, he paused to polish the Mnra silver and jet worked liberally into the leather.

The plump page rubbed the Human's strangely flat forehead. "I think he looks weird."

Chekov firmly removed the page's hand and adjusted the wide neck of his gown. He would spend the evening trying to keep his shoulders covered, failing to realize that the gown was designed to show them off.

"And he's got an attitude," the thin one critiqued, handing the navigator a brush.

Just then, a blast from a horn sounded from the chambers below.

"Dinner." The pages translated, exchanging panicked glances.

"Where's his vest?" The plump teen bent to quickly shove a sandal onto the lieutenant's left foot. He knelt to lace it over the Russian's instep and around his ankle.

His companion tossed him the mate, while the navigator struggled to retain his balance. "He ain't got no vest."

"He gotta have a vest."

The thin page hastily tore into a chest sitting in a corner of the bower room. "Got one."

Bjoz looked dubiously back at the plundered trunk as he helped his companion pull the borrowed vest onto the Human. "Think we oughta be using stuff from...."

"Who'll know? A vest's a vest," his companion said, hustling the navigator towards the door. "Come on, Terran. Time to look pretty," and led him down to the dinning room.

Tzo intercepted them a short distance from their destination. He apologized as he gently removed the vest from Chekov and then savagely boxed Bjoz's ear. He would have delivered a second blow except for Chekov's hand on his arm. The valet handed the vest to the pages and sent them back to the bower. They departed with grateful looks at Chekov, who'd just won their hearts forever.

Giving the Terran a hard look but deciding not to upbraid him for interfering with the page, Tzo informed him that the Vixharth's sister, Princess Kmit had just arrived.

"I can hear her," Chekov commented on the bellowing female voice coming nearer.

"Yes," Tzo sighed, "that would be her highness. The Vixharth hopes you will not mind eating in the..."

"AH HA!" The door flew open and an enormous Klingon woman advanced upon Chekov and Tzo. "MY MAID WAS JUST TELLING ME THERE WAS A NEW CONCUBINE IN THE PLACE. COME IN HERE IN THE LIGHT AND LET ME HAVE A LOOK AT YOU." She dragged Chekov into the dinning hall, which was vast but softly lit with candles. "TURN UP THE LIGHTS, TZO, CAN'T SEE A DAMN THING IN HERE."

Chekov looked at Kboexi and got a reassuring wink. He surrendered himself to being poked and prodded by Kmit.

"SO," she bellowed, "do you speak Klingonese?" The Princess had two volumes: loud and very loud.

"Yes, a little, if you speak slo..."

"THAT'S EXCELLENT! WE CAN SHOW YOU TO COMPANY DAY AFTER TOMORROW. CAN YOU RIDE?"

"Ah, yes, Kmit, as I was saying about this hunt..." Kboexi began.

"CAN YOU RIDE, LITTLE ONE?"

"Ride? Ride what?" Chekov stammered.

"A BRIGA, OF COURSE. I've got a gentle one, we'll put you up on him first thing tomorrow." She swung round on her brother. "He's lovely, where do you find them, Brother? He must ride with us day after tomorrow. I INSIST." She pushed Chekov into a chair and slopped some wine into a cup for him.

Somewhat stunned, Chekov gratefully drank his wine and tried to follow the ensuing conversation.

"I don't remember you telling me you had an Axkt hunt planned for these days, Sister."

"That's because you don't listen to me, K-bo, *dear*, I sent you a note about it as well," Kmit flung herself into a chair. "ARE YOU FEEDING ME? I'M FAMISHED."

Kboexi waved the servers forward, "I *do* remember the note now..."

"SEE!"

The Vixharth made a quick review of pleasant and secluded resorts on the homeworld. "In that case I think I should take Chekov and ..."

"CHEKOV!" Kmit turned to the navigator. "IS THAT YOUR NAME, SWEETHEART? IT'S ADORABLE!"

Chekov lowered his eyes to hide his confusion and pulled up the shoulders of his gown.

"I think we should leave," Kboexi said quietly.

"Nonsense!" Kmit shot back in at almost normal volume (this was how one knew she was being serious), "You're not going to be here to welcome the Emperor, General K'ShrnHaat and Admiral KjztYhet? Are you mad?"

"This *is* your party, Kmit," the Vixharth said.

"And these *are* the most powerful Klingons alive, K-bo," she shot a glance at Chekov, "I can understand that you want some privacy but you can fuck him all you like when the Emperor is gone."

Chekov frowned at that last and downed his wine. He folded his hands in his lap and wondered what the hell was going on here.

Kboexi decided not to argue with his elder sister and dug into his dinner. He listened with interest to her recitals of intrigue and downfall in the palace. Kmit was married to the Emperor's uncle and had a deep and abiding love for palace intrigue. And she was good at it; only she could get the Haats and Yhets, deadly enemies and sworn rivals for Imperial influence, together for something as seemingly benign as an Axkt hunt. It was not benign, everyone involved, including Kmit and Kboexi, would take every opportunity to curry a little more favor with the Emperor and his intimates.

Tzo placed some kessa fruit and grain muffins before Chekov and poured the navigator a large tumbler of water.

"I don't know that Chekov is up to this, Sister."

"Up to what?" Kmit turned back to the lieutenant. "YOU JUST HAVE TO SIT THERE AND LOOK AS PRETTY AS YOU DO NOW, DEAR." She gave his cheek a rough pat.

Chekov shot Kboexi an inquiring look and got a frown for an answer.

The Vixharth shrugged in defeat and asked his sister whom she'd invited for the hunt. Kmit screamed for her secretary and went over the guest list in detail. Noticing that Captain Korzra was on the list, Kboexi added Sub-Commander Kahrag and Lieutenant Krossoro and sent the secretary off straight away to confirm their acceptances and arrange their transport, as well as contact their superiors in the name of Princess Kmit so they would be excused from duty to attend. No one ever said no to Kmit, or they did so *only* once and never again.

"Who are those two?" Kmit demanded.

"Huge Northerners. They ride like demons and will impress you with their lack of conversation," Kboexi informed her.

"Are they sexy?" she leered.

"I am no judge of such things, Sister," Kboexi said primly, almost feeling sorry for the Northers if Kmit got playful, which was always possible.

"Huh," and she returned to her dinner.

A few moments later, Kmit's secretary returned with the good news that Kahrag and Krossoro would be most happy to attend and would be arriving late the following evening.

Sighing mentally, the Vixharth contemplated how they were going to get through this evening. Kmit solved it nicely by announcing that she was exhausted and wanted to see the animals settled before collapsing into bed.

"I'M DEAD ON MY FEET, K-BO, BUT COME AND LOOK AT THESE MAGNIFICENT BEASTS I'VE ASSEMBLED FOR THE HUNT. BRING THE CHEKOV," she roared, leading them to the stable yard. "OF COURSE I'VE PUT THE EMPEROR'S ANIMALS IN THE BEST BOXES."

Curious in spite of himself, Chekov followed the siblings into the yard. It had been deserted when he'd arrived but now it was a hive of activity. Grooms were rushing about, herding huge muscular quadrupeds about the yard and dragging sacks of feed to their boxes.

The Vixharth watched Chekov stumble on his gown for the second time and decided to act. "You're hardly dressed for this excursion," he murmured in Standard, sweeping Chekov into his arms.

"I did not know I would be having an excursion this evening," the navigator whispered in Klingonese.

"Nor I, Terran, nor I."

"WE'LL LET YOUR LITTLE ONE RIDE ZGI," Kmit bellowed, gesturing to a huge red brown briga.

The Russian looked curiously at the big shaggy quadruped. Somewhat slimmer and longer legged, it reminded him of the buffaloes of ancient earth but there was something oddly feline about it as well. Zgi hung his oblong head over the half door of his box and made a soft cooing sound.

"HE WANTS YOU TO PET HIM."

Chekov reached out a hand and stroked the creature's wide forehead. Lightening fast, the briga whipped his head up and snapped his tongue at Chekov's wrist. Smacking his lips, Zgi glided away to eat some grains that were just delivered.

Startled by the animals speed and agility, the Russian had recoiled in Kboexi's arms. He heard the Vixharth chuckling softly and felt him tighten his arms fractionally.

"HE JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU TASTE LIKE. HE'S JUST MAKING SURE YOU'RE NOT SOMETHING GOOD TO EAT." Kmit laughed lasciviously. "I THINK YOU TWO WILL GET ALONG JUST FINE." She wished them good night and stomped off to see how her staff was getting along with the unpacking.

Kboexi carried Chekov back into the house and set him on his feet in the big hall. "What now," the Russian asked.

"Well, now we should get some sleep. Tomorrow you learn to ride," he paused to look the Terran over, "If you want to learn, I'm sure I could talk Kmit out of it." He waited for an answer.

"I would like to try," Chekov assured him. He was curious about an animal that moved so strangely.

"Then you shall. And the next day you will meet some very interesting Klingons," the Vixharth shepherded Chekov up the stairs.

"Why did you invite Kahrag and Krossoro?" Chekov asked sleepily.

"Because Korzra will be here."

Chekov shot him a worried look.

"Not to worry, Lieutenant," Kboexi comforted, "I merely wish to deflect the worst of the sub-commander's jealous wrath by including him and allowing him to see that you are being well cared for." 'Certainly better dressed, at least,' he mused, casting an appreciative eye over Chekov's couture. "Also, he and Krossoro *do* ride like demons, I've seen them, it's terrifying. The only reason Kmit didn't invite them is because she doesn't know about them. She's certainly invited most of the rest of the planet." Kboexi wished he were more in the mood for this fiesta; it promised to be a highly profitable event for anyone who knew how to work it. He escorted Chekov to the bower and took a long look at him, remembering how *interested* Kmit had been in the navigator all evening. "I think I'll keep you with me this evening, Chekov," Kboexi murmured, opening the adjoining door into his own bedroom. "Join me when you are ready for bed," he bowed and left Chekov to the pages.

The moment Kboexi was gone, Bjoz threw himself at Chekov's feet in an orgy of gratitude.

"Oh, shut up and just help me undress," Chekov sighed, wondering what he was going to have to do with Kboexi that night.

Nothing, as it turned out. With trepidation, Chekov entered Kboexi's bedchamber and was directed to a made up couch by the hearth. The Russian sank gratefully onto the cushions and went right to sleep.

***

Chekov could ride fairly well. He'd spent part of his younger summers visiting a farm his uncle worked on in Mongolia. The Russian had learned to ride the sturdy little steppe ponies upon which Attila and his horde had swept across Asia, down through Europe and to the banks of the Danube thus driving the panicked Goths and Vandals into the arms of Rome before them. Chekov did not ride as well as Attila, however, it was sufficient to control the huge chestnut colored briga named Zgi he was allotted.

Under Kmit's expert tutelage, Chekov had Zgi flying over jumps and cutting figures as if he were born on him.

"VERY GOOD, CHEKOV, WELL DONE," she praised, rather impressed that this pretty little thing could ride.

Chekov had enjoyed his morning. He was also enjoying wearing the pants and boots Tzo had dug up for him. He led Zgi back to the enclosure and handed him over to a groom. Hungry and thirsty, Chekov made his way into the house and was directed to lunch with Kboexi on the terrace.

"How did it go?" the Vixharth asked.

"Well. I think I will be able to follow the hunt tomorrow," Chekov assured him.

"It's not arduous," Kboexi gestured to some rugged hills to the north. "We release ten Axkt tonight and tomorrow we'll chase the one's we can find over those hills."

Chekov nodded, wondering at the wisdom of chasing Axkt over anything. He'd seen the gazelle-like creatures in their crates and had a pang of regret for them... until one of them bared its fangs and extended its talons. Some small live animals were thrown to the Axkt and were torn apart and devoured in a flash. Chekov had asked one of the grooms if the Axkt ever turned and killed the briga and its rider. He was told, 'oh yes, that's the fun of it!'

After a reviving lunch, he and Kboexi retired to the Vixharth's study for their regular Klingonese lesson.

***

The seamstresses had been whipped into a frenzy to finish Chekov's riding costume by morning. They did and it was very becoming indeed. Even the pages were impressed as they helped him into it. Chekov shoved his feet into the borrowed boots and paused to contemplate the heavy padded trousers, the tight, high necked jacket, black gloves and tall boots before he was called to join the party.

Zgi was led round and one of the grooms managed to get a good feel of the navigator's backside as he boosted him into the saddle. The Russian arranged the reins in his hands and looked at the Klingons around him. Everyone was in shades of black or brown except the Emperor and his party were in white, which was only their prerogative. Exchanging nods with Kboexi and Kmit, Chekov looked away when he saw Korzra guiding his briga toward him.

"Well, Human, you've escaped me again," the captain said good naturedly. "But not for long."

"Good morning, Captain Korzra," Chekov said evenly.

'Well done, Human,' Korzra applauded Chekov's cool demeanor. "I see your *host* and his co-regionalist over there."

Chekov followed Korzra's gaze and found himself staring at Kahrag, who was staring at him. Beside him, Krossoro looked on the proceedings sourly. They were both seated on huge animals that stamped impatiently beneath them. The Russian hated to admit it but Kahrag was not entirely repulsive looking that morning in his charcoal riding gear. It reminded the lieutenant of something he'd seen in a picture book as a child, he tried to recall the name of the thing: a censor, a cantor, a centaur? Yes, that was it, a centaur; regrettably, he also remembered that these mythical beasts were renowned for their sexual prowess. He frowned and steadied his own mount as a commotion went through the riders. He just caught a flash of gray and purple as the Emperor's hunting pippets were released. Chekov would not appreciate what a spectacular flock of hunters he just seen take wing until later. At that moment, he was distracted by Tzo and Bjoz riding up on either side of him. 'My babysitters,' he thought wryly as the riders moved off in a northerly direction. He cast one last covert glance at the airvehicles scattered about the outside of the estate's walls and said a little prayer.

"Your little slut looks quite nice mounted, cousin," Krossoro observed to Kahrag.

"Yes, always, and mounted on a briga, too," the Klingon shot back. "But, ah, if only I shared your certainty that he was still mine, cousin. How many Axkt are loosed?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Ten," Krossoro said, focusing on the danger in that, "we'll be busy with so many joyriders on this hunt."

Kahrag grunted his agreement and looked again at the riders around him. More than half were unarmed, those that were armed, like himself and Krossoro, only carried three short spears on their saddles. The rest of the riders were merely in it for the chase. Unfortunately, these were the very riders the Axkt were most likely to attack. He cheered a little at the thought that the Emperor's pippets would flush out the prey, drive it away from the riders so the hunters could run it down and kill it. 'But ten Axkt in this terrain is asking for trouble,' he mused, cursing this showy hunt yet again and hoped somebody had a sidearm if things got rough. A sharp 'HA-LA' rang from the front of the pack, the signal that one of the Axkt had been flushed. The riders broke into a canter and into full chase upon seeing the creature sprinting away from them. Kahrag glanced at Chekov, dropping back in the pack, before giving the chase his full attention.

The Axkti gave them a good chase but they ran it down eventually. Kahrag and Krossoro looked on as three of the Yhets drove their spears into the snarling creature. Kahrag located Chekov in the outer edge of the crowd. It was a dangerous place to be if one of the Axkt decided to attack. The Klingon was distracted by just that, on the opposite side from his concubine; one of the Emperor's retinue had had their mount pulled out from under them and was being hauled onto somebody's saddle and out of harm's way. The Axkti, seeing how poorly planned its attack had been, fled and the pack gave chase.

In the confusion of the attack and ensuing pursuit, Chekov made his move. Seeing Tzo quite far from him, he kicked Bjoz out of his saddle and wheeled his mount back toward the estate. Toward the vehicles in the yard. His vague plan was to steal one and... something, anything. He blessed his luck that Zgi was a fast mount and leaned into the wind, charging across the plain.

Krossoro laid his whip across Kahrag's heavily padded back to get his attention. "If I were a little Human, that's what I'd do," he gestured to Chekov's flight.

Kahrag swore, wheeled his mount with Krossoro in close formation, and pursued the Russian.

This did not escape Kboexi and Korzra's notice and they, too, cut out of the pack and doubled back, following the Northerners, following the Human.

Chekov looked back to find Klingons bearing down on him. He cursed and steered Zgi into a strand of trees, hoping to shake his pursuers.

Kahrag's heart nearly stopped - a single rider in the trees was the perfect prey for any the nine remaining Axkt and at least one of them was bound to be in those trees. He shot Krossoro a look and got an affirmative nod, meaning that the Chief Interrogator would follow him into the trees or hell and defend his back as much as he could.

'Damn Human slut's going to get me killed,' Krossoro thought, taking a spear in each hand. 'Damn Kahrag, too, and damn me for doing this damn foolish thing!' He hoped his wife would be able to find a new husband after the Axkti tore him to pieces. With these happy thoughts he followed Kahrag into the trees.

Kboexi and Korzra looked on in horror as the three entered the strand of trees. They whipped their mounts and closed the distance. Korzra drew his sidearm and threw Kboexi an encouraging look. Kboexi merely took a spear in each hand and tightened his legs on his briga. 'Rash, Chekov,' he thought, 'poorly planned, opportunistic but courageous and crazy enough to perhaps work. If an Axkti doesn't eat you first.' He marveled at Kahrag and Krossoro chasing him into the trees; not even three riders stood much chance against an Axkti, five was not much better. Chekov did not know that but the Northers did and still they were going after him. 'Brave, Kahrag,' the Vixharth mused as the trees closed over his head, 'or perhaps stupid, perhaps you *do* love him.'

Chekov could hear Kahrag behind him and he whipped his fading mount a little harder. 'Sorry, Zgi, just get me out of here!' he thought, maneuvering between the trees, trying to shake the Klingon. He caught sight of a Axkti pacing them, about to spring and he reflexively lashed at it with his whip. He struck the creature in the eye and it recoiled enough for Krossoro to have a clear and fatal throw at it. Turning back he found Kahrag beside him, reaching for him, and he lashed at the Klingon, who did not recoil. Neither of them saw another Axkti spring for Zgi's hindquarters. Kahrag hauled Chekov, thrashing and flailing, onto his saddle as Zgi was pulled out from under the Human.

Cursing the Klingon, Chekov watched his gentle briga disemboweled as Kahrag rode them out of the trees as quickly as possible. Coming upon a muddy, marshy patch, too far in the open for the Axkt to attack, the Klingons let their exhausted mounts catch their breath. Kahrag threw Chekov into the mud. "You walk from here," he snarled at the Human.

Looking on, Kboexi shipped his remaining spear, his face unreadable. He'd speared an Axkti himself but was feeling no joy in it.

Krossoro had no spears to ship, he'd thrown the rest at the Axkti that pursued them out of the grove.

Noting the charge was a quarter down, Korzra holstered his sidearm, he'd shot one and missed another Axkti chasing them on the other side of Kahrag.

No one said anything to Chekov but they were all wondering what they'd just risked their lives for. Perhaps for Kahrag; the wild, gallant sub-commander, because it certainly couldn't have been for this idiot Human.

Kboexi snapped out of it first, he dismounted and leaned against his exhausted mount. Krossoro and Korzra joined him; the animals were too weary to ride any further, they would walk them back to the stable yard. Kahrag slid off his briga and waded into the mud. He hauled Chekov up by his lapels and shoved him in front of him. It was a long, silent walk back to the estate. They preceded the rest of the hunters so no one saw Tzo hustle Chekov into the house and upstairs for a bath. Kboexi had a guard posted on the bower and poured the warriors stiff drinks in the drawing room.

"It *is* a prisoner's and an officer's duty to try to escape," Korzra said, breaking into everyone's thoughts.

"I had begun to think of him as more of a house guest than prisoner, Captain," Kboexi said quietly.

Krossoro snorted in disgust. "Your first mistake was making the little slut a hostage when he was won, fair and square, by Kahrag."

"The decision was a wise one, Lieutenant," Korzra informed him, "I still stand by it."

Kboexi lowered his eyes in agreement.

"I would have done the same thing in his place," Kahrag said simply. "He saw his chance and he took it."

"And could have killed us all," Kboexi reminded him.

"No one was compelled to follow him into those trees, your grace," Kahrag said simply. "We knew the danger in there, he did not. In his place, so pursued and with limited knowledge of the terrain, I would have made the same decision." Closing ranks, the warriors nodded in agreement.

The Vixharth shrugged. "When you leave, Kahrag, take him with you," he growled.

"As you wish, your grace," Kahrag bowed and left the room with Krossoro to collect Chekov and go home.

***

"Well, you've had quite a little adventure, haven't you, my prize?" Kahrag observed, carrying Chekov into his house. "But here you are; home again." Not wishing to accept anything from the Vixharth that did not belong to him, he'd taken Chekov, naked, from Kboexi's estate wrapped in his overcoat.

Chekov was still smarting from his humiliation earlier in the day and did not deign to answer.

"You do not speak," Kahrag growled tenderly, undoing the wrist restraints, "perhaps that is wise." He pulled his coat off the Human and told him to go to bed and draw the curtains. "I'm tired of seeing you today," the Klingon sighed wearily, reaching for a reader and postponing the decision of whether to cook dinner or have something sent in.

He was glad to be distracted by Krossoro dropping by to tell him the examination for the interrogation was rescheduled for the following day, when Kboexi would still be entertaining the Emperor on his estate.

"Helluva hunt, cousin, wish we could have enjoyed it more," Krossoro observed, trying to discern his co-regionalist's mood.

Kahrag grunted inscrutably.

"Wish I had that Axkti I killed, 'tho probably have to give one of the paws to your Human. His blow's what gave me my killing throw."

Kahrag grunted inscrutably again but tending toward amused.

"Your pretty slut rides like a demon babe, cousin, perhaps we should take him Targ hunting with us this year."

Kahrag nodded, grunted and almost smiled at that.

"He is still alive, isn't he?"

"Who?" Kahrag asked, knowing but wanting to tease Krossoro a little.

"Your bedwarmer."

"Of course," the Klingon assured him, "he's warming the bed right now."

Krossoro sat back and drank some more llarth. He hated to see good things go to waste, be it good liquor, fine animals or daring concubines.

"Thank you again for returning his clothes and boots," Kahrag said in the pause.

"You are welcome." Krossoro, like Kahrag, was economical and saw no point in abandoning Chekov's clothes and boots in the Intelligence unit simply because Kboexi couldn't be bothered to carry the slut off dressed. Besides, there was plenty of wear in those garments and if not by the Human, then perhaps by someone else. Someone a trifle more docile. "What are you going to do with him?"

"The Terran? Nothing, he's punished enough for having failed," Kahrag said, sipping his llarth. "He knows he's displeased Kboexi and I think that weighs on him, too."

"And yet my opinion of him has risen for it," Krossoro observed.

"Mine was always high, cousin, you could not see it but he is a worthy conquest," Kahrag informed him, "'worth every gram of toil and micro of suffering'," he quoted from a poem they learned as children.

Krossoro chuckled, rising to leave, "You are a romantic, cousin, such thinking will get you killed," he turned at the door, "or blessed," and was gone.

Kahrag turned that remark over a few times before joining the sleeping Human in his bed. It had been a long day, he, too, was tired. Knowing Chekov would need his strength for the exam the next day, he let sleeping Humans lie and dropped off comparing the difference between Targ and Axkti hunting. There was more strategy in Targ hunting because Targs were smarter than Axkt. Targ hunts took place farther out in the woods, far away from country estates with courtyards full of airvehicles in which a little Human might escape his rightful master.

***

Chekov did not find the exam overly taxing. Korzra and Kahrag had been present during it and Klnta had not strayed from the prescribed agenda. In fact, he got through the exam with dispatch.

The Human was mulling all this over as he dusted the shelves of Kahrag's display case the day after the exam. He glanced at the clock for the nth time; this was the usual hour of his lesson with the Vixharth. But he strongly suspected he would never see that Klingon again. 'I had to try,' he thought glumly, going to answer the door, 'I had to at least try to escape, it was my first best chance...' He was, therefore, very surprised to see Kboexi on the threshold.

"I thought we would resume our lessons but I seem to be interrupting you," the Vixharth said, entering.

"I did not expect you, your grace," Chekov said softly, "if you'll give me a moment, I'll change into something more suitable."

Kboexi nodded and took a seat while Chekov changed into a teal tunic trimmed in black and black leggings. The Russian dragged a brush through his hair, pulled on some soft boots and made tea before he joined the Vixharth.

"Did Kahrag punish you?" Kboexi asked at the end of the lesson.

"No," Chekov said sadly, "I failed," he shrugged, "what else could he have done to me?"

The Vixharth chose not to speculate on that. "What would you have done?"

"Stolen an aircar and gone."

"Gone where, Chekov? This is the homeworld," Kboexi said gently, lifting one of the navigator's hands. "You're obvious *and* marked; you'd be found and brought back immediately. Probably molested by whomever caught you." Hearing the door open behind him, the Vixharth let go of Chekov's hand.

"Good afternoon, your grace," Kahrag growled to cover his surprise and irritation at seeing the Vixharth in his home again. Especially seeing him pawing his concubine, again. "I am sure Chekov is pleased to have his lessons resumed." The Klingon moved about the room putting his weapons away. He offered Kboexi llarth, which was surprisingly accepted.

The Klingons chatted about this and that, Chekov did his best to follow but lost interest fairly soon. From what he could understand he gathered that the hunt had been a tremendous success and his flight, or rather, the flight of someone's ill-behaved concubine, and the pursuit through the trees was much discussed. They fell silent; admiring him seated demurely, with his tattooed hands folded in his lap, eyes lowered.

"The interrogation has been scheduled for day after tomorrow," Kahrag said after a moment.

"Yes," Kboexi sighed, "I've come to ask your permission to have the Human with me for a few days after it. May I?"

Kahrag was pleased to be asked, for a change, but felt compelled to agree, as if he had no choice. He did not have a choice; one did not refuse a noble, especially when the noble has the grace to ask for what he knows he can simply take. "Of course, your grace, I'm sure Chekov would enjoy *another* visit to your estate. Wouldn't you, my prize?"

Chekov nodded and said yes, he would.

Kboexi expressed his thanks and departed, promising to come the next day at the same time for a lesson and this was agreeable to Kahrag.

Having seen their guest to the door, the sub-commander turned and surveyed his concubine. "I would have bet three years of my life we would not see him again, my prize."

"I, too, was surprised," Chekov answered, clearing away the tea things and llarth glasses. He carried them into the kitchen and began to wash up.

"But not displeased?" Kahrag said, leaning on the doorjamb.

"No," Chekov said, not looking up from his task, "he is a good teacher. I missed my lessons." He did not resist when Kahrag slid his arms around him and nuzzled his neck.

"What a charming liar you are, my prize," the Klingon murmured against the soft white flesh. "I have theater tickets for tonight," Kahrag said brusquely, stepping back. "Good seats, too."

Chekov dried his hands. "I would like to go out," he said thoughtfully. "What's the play about?"

"I've no idea. It's one of those modern things - all words and no plot." Kahrag preceded him into the main room. "Wear the blue silk; you've never worn it before."

Chekov went to his locker and pulled out the requested item. It was a tunic in purplish cobalt blue with full skirts that reached his knees. The shoulders had something of a military cut to them and were heavily padded. The waist was nipped in with a belt of matching braided silk worked with silver and what reminded Chekov of terran turquoise and pearls. The trousers were in the same fabric and cut as fully as the skirts. As becoming as this outfit was to him, Chekov felt rather silly in it.

Kahrag, on the other hand, adored it. It was one of the more flattering and showy of Chekov's wardrobe. The rig seemed to announce to the world that this was a very expensive and well cared for, if not spoiled rotten, concubine. 'And you are that, my prize,' the Klingon mused, putting on his weapons, 'you are that.'

They arrived at the Theater House, as it was called, and found a good natured riot in progress. Kahrag had their taxi drop them in front and he carried Chekov, wrapped in a cloak, through the crowd.

"I can walk!" he hissed at Kahrag.

"You could but the crowd would not make a path for us as they are now," Kahrag whispered back.

It was true, Chekov noted, Klingons were stepping aside to let them pass. He remained silent for the rest of the ride and stood docilely beside Kahrag as the Klingon exchanged his tickets for admittance. They were directed to a small box furnished with overstuffed couches and pillows in slippery silk at the back and four hard chairs in the front.

"Why were they moving aside for us?" Chekov asked, tossing his cloak aside and accepting a bottle of mineral water.

"It is an old Klingon custom to step aside for someone carrying someone," Kahrag told him, drawing the curtain at the front of the box and settling onto a couch. "It's from the warrior tradition of bearing wounded comrades off a field of victory." He pulled Chekov into his lap and began to fumble with the Human's fine clothes.

"Kahrag, stop! The play is starting," Chekov said, trying to still the Klingon's hands.

"The play starts in five minutes, we can have a lot of fun in five minutes, my prize," Kahrag informed him, happily squeezing the Human's stiffening penis.

"You'll muss my clothes," Chekov threw out desperately.

"Oh, all right," Kahrag let him go and rose to lock the door. "Take them off," he said reasonably.

"Did you bring me here just to have sex with me?" Chekov asked, stunned.

"No, but it seems like a good idea and it's not an unusual occurrence in this theater," Kahrag said, gesturing to the stacks of towels and pitcher of water on a cabinet next to the door. "Why do you think they have all these couches in here? Those that want to watch the play can sit on the chairs and those that want to watch the play and make love can do so from here," he sat next to Chekov again. "So undress, quickly, it's been too long since I've had you."

The house lights, including their box, dimmed to encourage the theatergoers into their seats as Chekov began to undress. Not wishing to seem as interested in sex as he really was, the navigator took his time about undoing the clasps and fasteners of his elegant ensemble. He tried to ignore the fact that Kahrag was enjoying his leisurely striptease. The lights were dimming for the performance by the time Chekov stepped naked into Kahrag's arms.

"There, my prize, there," the Klingon murmured into his ear, caressing as much of him as he could reach, "you see how much fun you can have in five minutes?" Not waiting for an answer, Kahrag lay Chekov on the couch and kissed a trail to the Human's arching pink cock.

Chekov turned his head when the stage lights came up. He had a moment of concern when he realized the fabric of the box curtains was translucent and wondered if the other boxes could see them. 'What difference does it make if they can?' he thought coldly, 'it wouldn't stop this Klingon for an instant.' He was momentarily distracted by the Klingon bobbing up and down on the head of his cock. Turning his attention back to the stage, Chekov decided to focus on that.

It was a brightly lit and empty space. There seemed to be a pile of colorful masks on one side of it. After a moment, three elderly females came on and sat cross legged at the back of the stage. They carried wooden sticks in their hands and tapped out a rhythmic pattern twice before folding their hands and sitting back.

Chekov might have liked to ask Kahrag what was going on but the Klingon had his mouth full.

A very tall Klingon female in a gold gown came on and picked up one of the masks. She took up a position in the middle of the stage and began to recite in very clear Klingonese the prologue of the play. The musicians accompanied her speech. Chekov wondered which of them was setting the rhythm of the piece. Just prior to coming, hard, he noticed that Kahrag's motion on his cock had fallen into it. He stifled his voluptuous moan in one of the silky pillows and lay panting, watching Kahrag strip off his own clothing.

The prologue seemed to be reaching some sort of crescendo when Kahrag lay full length on him. The Klingon drew him into a deep kiss and held him there as the actress put down her mask and exited the stage. Chekov was able to turn his head and watch another female enter while Kahrag nuzzled his neck and humped his cock on the navigator's belly. He did his best to concentrate on the soliloquy, which was about something to do with going home. Again, the lieutenant would have liked to ask Kahrag about this but the Klingon was fully occupied with stifling his orgasmic groan against Chekov's shoulder as he came on Chekov's stomach.

Pausing to catch his breath, Kahrag rose and brought back a damp towel and cleaned up his Terran. He put on his trousers but didn't bother to put on anything else in the overheated little box. He sat next to Chekov and picked up the thread of the actress' speech. It was about returning to her village after it was devastated by a fire or flood. Or both, she seemed to be referring to two events simultaneously.

Chekov stretched and sat up. He reached for his clothes but Kahrag drew him back to his side.

"You won't need them right away," the Klingon murmured, caressing Chekov's waist and hips.

They sat companionably together and listened to the play. Kahrag's hand strayed occasionally to caress some part or other of Chekov's anatomy. His attention was split between molesting the lieutenant and the play, which was turning out to be more interesting than he had anticipated.

Chekov sat limply against the Klingon and tried to follow the story he was being told. It was something about running away from a fire or flood and then coming back to watch it destroy the village. Very strange but he could understand enough of the words and they, and the rhythmic accompaniment, painted a very vivid picture. He was also struck by Kahrag's attention. The Klingon was riveted by what he was hearing. Chekov felt like he was in a strange dream. He could not see the audience but their silence and stillness attested to their focus on the stage.

At last the speech ended and the actress made her exit. The spell was broken and the audience shifted in their seats.

Kahrag rose, took a container of lubricant and a small package out of his trousers before he took them off and sat back down. He handed Chekov his bottle of mineral water and watched him take several deep pulls from it. He draped his arm around the Human as another tall female came onstage.

"Is this the same woman every time?" Chekov asked, quietly.

"I can't tell," Kahrag murmured, bending to kiss the Terran's white shoulders. He moved Chekov's hand to his burgeoning erection.

Chekov tried to focus on the play as he stroked the Klingon as little as possible. He could have done nothing and Kahrag would have gotten hard anyway.

The Klingon dropped a pillow on the floor between Chekov's feet and knelt on it. He pulled Chekov forward and bent to suck his cock as he inserted slick fingers to prepare his charge for intercourse.

Chekov continued watched the play over his captor's shoulder and tried to ignore what was about to happen. He noticed Kahrag lube up and then slip something onto his penis before centering it at the entrance to Chekov's body. "What is that?" Chekov asked.

"A sheath." The Klingon draped Chekov's ankles over his shoulders and took hold of the Human's hips.

"...?"

"It's tidier," Kahrag said, as the pushed he head in. He pulled Chekov a little closer, "Can you see?" he asked, getting an affirmative nod, began to fuck his prize with long, slow strokes.

The angle was especially effective for stimulating Chekov's prostate and he was soon whimpering and squirming against each thrust. This was very much to Kahrag's liking and even more so when he had to clamp his hand over the Human's mouth so as not to disturb the other theatergoers, many of whom were engaged in more or less the same activity. One hand over his mouth and the other stroking him to climax, the Klingon made sure Chekov came before he cooled his pace and had a kinder, gentler orgasm himself. He muffled his groan of pleasure against the navigator's chest and leaned his forehead against the soft white flesh, wishing he could black out but knowing it would be unwise: there were too many weapons in the room and too many airvehicles in the vehicle storage area.

Still shuddering from his intense climax, escape was frankly the last thing on Chekov's mind. Had he been aware of it, the navigator would have been ashamed to admit it, but, oh well. Laying in the Klingon's arms in the darkened theater, listening to the rhythmic phrases from the stage he just let himself float in the moment. He'd worry about whatever tomorrow... or the next day... or the day after that. He squirmed a little as Kahrag carefully pulled out and rose to dispose of the sheath.

The Klingon returned with a damp cloth and wiped Chekov down again. He cuddled the naked Human against his chest for a few moments before ordering him to dress. After dressing himself, the pair watched the remainder of the play from the hard seats in the front of the box.

What the play was about, they were never certain, but the synthesis of sound and text was mesmerizing. Kahrag regretted that he'd neglected modern theater for so long. He'd no idea it was so interesting, so... stimulating.

At home, he put his sleepy Human to bed and checked his messages. He found one from Krossoro suggesting he increase the iron content in Chekov's nutrient shot, the Human was a trifle anemic. He clicked off and went to bed himself, deciding to give Chekov a solid day and night of rest before the interrogation.

***

"I think that spot is clean."

Chekov started. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts, he'd almost forgotten that Kahrag was sitting nearby. "What?"

"You've been sweeping the same area for a quarter of an hour," the Klingon said without looking up from his reader. "I can't tell if you're cleaning or trying to dig your way out."

The navigator blew out a contemptuous breath at this supposition as he put the broom aside and rolled out one of the colorfully woven floor rugs. The weather had turned chilly enough for Kahrag to deem their use appropriate. The sudden cold snap had made Chekov wonder what winter would be like on this planet. It looked like he was going to have the opportunity to find out.

Chekov released another long breath. This one sounded shaky. Kahrag had kept him sedated for the majority of the previous day. During the little time the lieutenant been fully conscious, he'd been too groggy to worry about his upcoming interrogation. He'd spent this morning making up for lost time.

The Klingon looked at him over the top of his reader. "You're not afraid, are you?"

The Russian narrowed his eyes, recognizing Kahrag's attempt at reverse psychology for what it was. "I apologize if I fail to meet your standards of bravery, but I am not particularly looking forward to this."

The gunner put his reading aside and held out a hand for his charge. "Come here."

Chekov crossed his arms. "I am not a child," he informed his captor coldly.

"Then don't behave like one," Kahrag retorted, leaning forward to grasp an handful of the loose material of the navigator's pants and using the grip to pull his captive towards him.

The navigator soon found himself seated on the big Klingon's knee.

Kahrag stroked his Human's hair fondly. "It might be better if you were a child."

Chekov lifted an eyebrow. "You are more perverse than I thought."

"You mistake my meaning. If I had taken you as a youngling - before you pledged yourself to the service of the Federation -this would be easier for you. You would not be so tormented." Kahrag kissed his charge's neck softly. "And not only in foolishness such as this interrogation. Had I found you when you were younger, your loyalties would not dissuade you from finding contentment in my bed... or from expressing the pleasure you take in my touch."

Chekov stoutly ignored any response his body was traitorously experiencing and looked away.

Kahrag smiled and chucked him under the chin. "Oh, how I will miss the sight of the that stubborn little chin jerking proudly upwards and the rebellious tremble of that sweet lower lip."

The navigator turned and blinked at him. "How long will the interrogation take?"

"Only a few hours, but Kboexi will take you after that." The gunner paused and shook his head. "Although after the way you abused his hospitality in front of the Emperor, I doubt he'll keep you long. I trust you have made no further plans for such misbehavior."

"If I see an opportunity for escape, I will attempt it," Chekov informed his captor defiantly.

Kahrag laughed. "Obstinate brat!" he said, ruffling his charge's hair. "I should have paddled you in front of the assembled nobles as you deserved. It was only fear of inspiring a dozen more lustful Kboexis by the sight of your pretty rump that prevented me from doing so."

The navigator tried to pull away, but the Klingon had wrapped his huge arms around him firmly. "Let me go!"

Kahrag silenced his squirming captive's protest with a kiss. Chekov tried to resist the lips pressed commandingly to his, but could only maintain the struggle for a few moments. At the first hint of abatement, the Klingon forced the navigator's mouth open, deepening the kiss. Chekov couldn't stop himself from relaxing into the embrace.

When the captain of the security force dispatched to fetch the Human to headquarters for questioning entered without knocking a few seconds later, he paused and cleared his throat loudly. He experienced a pang of regret as he stepped forward to handcuff the prisoner. It seemed a pity to take such an obviously aroused and submissive concubine from the arms of his rightful master. Humans, the security man reflected, placing a firm hand on the neck of his prisoner to guide him towards the waiting aircar, seemed to make excellent little bedwarmers. He'd have to get one of his own some time...

***

"You have the right," Krossoro announced, tightening the straps on Chekov's wrists, "to make a statement."

Klnta angrily slammed the vial he was filling down. "It is not your place to speak to him," he growled.

Krossoro shrugged and continued to fasten the Human down to the uncomfortable metal chair in the middle of the steel-walled interrogation room. Kahrag's concubine looked very small and helpless so restrained. "You neglected your duty for so long, I assumed you'd forgotten."

"What manner of statement?" Chekov asked while his interrogators glared at each other.

"A prisoner may make a statement to confess or plead his innocence," Klnta informed him gruffly as he hung a transparent sack of fluid onto a rack above the navigator's head. "But since your only crime is being Human, neither is necessary."

"Or," Krossoro interjected, speaking slowly for the navigator's benefit, "a prisoner may protest the method of interrogation, if he finds it dishonorable."

"I wish to make a statement," Chekov said. He wasn't sure Krossoro had made the suggestion for any reason other than to annoy Klnta. The navigator considered that sufficient motivation.

The interrogator scowled and hit a button on a nearby panel. "Make it brief."

Chekov took in a deep breath and looked at the blinking red light on the steel wall in front of him that he assumed indicated a camera. "I am Lt. Pavel Andreivich Chekov, serial number 656-5827B," he began in Standard. "I have been kidnapped and forcibly brought to the Klingon homeworld. I have no orders to be here and have committed no act of espionage." The lieutenant swallowed hard as he watched Klnta prepare the device that would soon inject drugs into his veins. "Both my abduction and this interrogation are in violation of treaty." This fact did not seem to overly concern either of his questioners. "I am told that I will be drugged and questioned while in a semiconscious state...." The lieutenant had to swallow again before he could go on. "On my honor as a Starfleet officer, I swear that I do not *willingly* divulge any information or make any statements that may endanger the lives of my fellow officers."

"Is that all?" Klnta asked, his hand hovering over the button he'd pressed before.

The navigator nodded.

"Very pretty," the Klingon said cynically, flipping the switch.

"Bravely spoken," Krossoro comforted as Klnta wrapped the drug delivery device around the lieutenant's arm.

The Klingons stepped back and activated the unit. Chekov bit his lip at the painful pricking as something small and sharp touched his skin. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but the lieutenant thought he could hear the truth serum drip down the tubes that led to his arm as the steel-walled room grew bleary.

Chekov didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he suddenly awoke. Staring upwards, he found himself in an oddly familiar room with jewel-like leaves on the wall. "I had the strangest...." looking to his side, he was startled to discover himself in the company of a plump Klingon youth. "...dream," he finished dejectedly, remembering where he was and why he was there.

Bjoz nodded at the thin page, who turned and left the room. "Do you want some water?" he asked slowly, enunciating clearly.

Chekov nodded and let the youngster lift him and so he could drink out of the cup held for him. His arms felt like lead and he was still very groggy. He could barely focus on Tzo's entrance.

The valet brushed Chekov's hair off his face and straightened his blankets. "Go back to sleep, Terran."

Chekov decided this was a good idea and did so.

Tzo departed to tell his master that the Human needed more sleep. Yes, two days seemed like a long time already but he was still not up to snuff.

Kboexi agreed but was not pleased when he reflected that the interrogators had had to use both arms for the administration as Chekov's veins were not holding up well under the Klingon needles. The interrogators had been worried that the drug was poisoning Chekov's system, hence, a lighter dose but a longer administration.

Krossoro and Klnta came to one of their rare agreements and stopped the interrogation. Neither were very happy with the life readings they were getting and after eleven hours of chemicals it was obvious to everyone that the Human simply didn't know anything valuable. Also, seeing Chekov have a second convulsion, Kboexi lodged a strident objection to the continuation of the proceedings and Kahrag was starting to make dangerously lethal noises. They had finally allowed Kboexi to take him, however, Kahrag had insisted on carrying the unconscious Human to the airlimo.

Kboexi thought for a moment more and then contacted Krossoro. He arranged for the Chief Interrogator to transport to his estate directly.

***

"I would rather Kahrag didn't know about this, Krossoro," Kboexi said, pouring them both stiff drinks at dawn.

"Which? That you saved him by calling me? That you almost let him die by not calling me sooner? Or that Klnta and I almost killed him?" Krossoro bolted his liquor and tried not to visualize Kahrag's rage and grief had Chekov died. It had been a near thing but now it was over.

Krossoro had arrived and been taken to the sleeping Human. He'd ordered Bjoz to make the strongest ahmrasine he could. The interrogator and Tzo had lifted Chekov out of bed and walked him around the room, stopping to pour water down his throat and breath fresh air at the window. When the ahmrasine arrived, they walked him on the balcony and let the drink and the sun warm him. Krossoro directed the pages to rub the circulation back into the Human's extremities as he and Tzo dragged him around.

Eventually, Chekov came to the surface enough to try to fight them all off. "Leave me alone, you targ fuckers," he grumbled in Klingonese.

Krossoro grunted in relief that the slut was coming around. It was still several more hours before the Human was revived to the Chief Interrogator's satisfaction. He left fresh pages with strict instructions on what to observe and report on in the sleeping Human. The peaceful, healthy, detoxified, sleeping Human.

"All of it, Krossoro," Kboexi said, recalling the Chief Interrogator to the present. "I would prefer that all of it be kept from Kahrag. If it is a matter of... compensation..."

"Don't insult me, Vixharth," Krossoro growled. "I have just saved my comrade Kahrag's bedwarmer, let's leave it at that. Kahrag need never know. I would prefer that as well." He shrugged wearily. "Now, if you will give me a bed, I'd like to stay here, with your permission, and monitor his recovery for a day or so. I'll tell Kahrag you called me and I found his slut groggy but alive. That will hold him, I hope."

At some unseen signal, Tzo materialized out of the tapestries and escorted Krossoro to a guest room near the Bower. They stopped to look in on Chekov before retiring. The Human was sleeping soundly, breathing normally and his body temperature was normal for his species. Krossoro noted this with professional irony; he usually observed these vital signs as a prelude or interlude to causing pain. He'd never revived a subject so the subject could feel 'good' again. He checked the bruises on Chekov's arms - they would heal but it was a shame to mar such fine skin for nothing.

Nothing. The Intelligence Unit had gotten nothing out of the Terran. A complete waste of time, drugs and manpower. This was what Krossoro had written in his report to the Admiralty (who'd asked for it when they found he was involved in the Terran's chemical interrogation). He knew Klnta had written the same thing to his superiors at the IU. Krossoro hoped Korzra had gotten enough; the Chief Interrogator seriously suspected that another session would kill the Human.

He ordered the page to wake him every hour so he could examine the Terran. Tzo led him to a nearby room, where Krossoro flung himself on the bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Tzo threw some blankets on him and went to supervise breakfast, as was his usual duty at this hour in the morning.

***

"I had an idea," Kboexi announced as he entered the bower room.

Chekov was sitting up in bed, propped by wedge-shaped pillows as he ate a snack of fruits and mineral water. The page following the Vixharth was lugging two large cases. He put them down on the floor beside the ensign's bed and began to unfold telescoping legs from the first one.

"I have studied your Human game of chess," Kboexi explained as the page continued to turn the first case into a little table. "I think I have an understanding of the rules and have even played against the computer a few times. But I've never before had the opportunity to play against a live opponent -- particularly not a Human one. I trust you are familiar with the game?"

Chekov watched as the page unfolded an old-fashioned two-dimensional chessboard. "Of course."

"And you feel well enough to play?" the noble asked as another of his servants pulled a chair up to the table for his master.

The lieutenant smiled humorlessly. "I feel as well as one should after betraying everything and everyone important to them."

Kboexi gave a short laugh. "You hardly did that. Captain Korzra was rather disappointed."

Chekov raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. The Vixharth was pleased to note that his guest's demeanor immediately seemed to brighten at the thought that his interrogation had been fruitless.

"Where did you learn to play?" the Klingon asked, as the page opened the case holding his hand-carved set of chess pieces.

"At home, as a child."

The page began to set the pieces out before them. Kboexi was sorry that his opponent couldn't appreciate the wickedly apt caricatures of various members of the Haat and Yhet clans that adorned the small black nynx and white vorni statuettes. "Your parents played chess?"

This question elicited a small but genuine smile from the navigator. "All Russians play chess," the lieutenant informed him. "We invented the game."

Although this contradicted information from his readings, Kboexi wasn't sure enough of this source material to contradict his guest. "Since you are the more experienced player, will you grant me the advantage of moving first?"

Chekov gave an open handed gesture that indicated his assent.

Trying to bear in mind all the texts on strategy he'd reviewed, the Vixharth carefully considered the board before finally setting on which pawn to move.

In response, the Russian pushed a piece forward on the far side of the board without seeming to consider twice. "How long will I stay here?"

Kboexi frowned at the board, suddenly unsure his opening had been well-chosen. "Are you anxious to return to Kahrag?"

"No." Chekov took a drink of mineral water while the Vixharth hesitated over a rook. "He said you might not want me here too long because I embarrassed you in front of the Emperor."

Kboexi looked up. "You do remember meeting my half-sister, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you must realize that I have long since grown impervious to embarrassment," the noble said, sliding forward another pawn.

Chekov smiled as he immediately answered with a knight.

Kboexi was puzzled by the move, but glad to see the smile. "I wish you to stay here until you have fully recovered from your ordeal. My servants and I can give you the sort of around the clock attention the good subcommander cannot. If there is something you require or would like to have to make your stay here more pleasant, I hope you will not hesitate to ask for it."

Chekov watched as the Vixharth moved piece backwards and forwards twice before finally setting it in place. "There is something I would like to have," he said.

"Anything," Kboexi offered generously as the lieutenant moved a rook.

"I want to see a transcript of my interrogation."

Kboexi was so surprised, he took his fingers off his hierophant before he meant to.

Chekov didn't hesitate to capitalize on the mistake. "You're in check."

The Vixharth hastily withdrew his move.

The lieutenant once more didn't let this lack of focus pass. "Checkmate."

Kboexi smiled at the board in dismay. "You're even better at this than I anticipated."

The lieutenant withheld any comment as the Klingon reset the board.

"You will give me another chance?" the Vixharth asked.

Chekov shrugged. "It's not like I have something else to do."

Kboexi considered as he returned the pieces to their starting positions. "Obtaining a transcript would be very difficult," he began discouragingly.

The lieutenant met his eyes evenly. "Not for you."

The Vixharth bit the tip of this thumb and considered. "Would you be willing to do something for me in return?"

The Human's face hardened. "What would I have to do?"

Kboexi could see he lieutenant was assuming that he drove the same sort of bargains that Kahrag apparently did. "Answer a few questions."

Chekov snorted. "I think I've done too much answering questions already."

"This will be entirely different," Kboexi said, moving his pawn to the same sort of position the navigator had led with before. "I'll ask the questions and you can decide which -- if any -- you feel you can answer."

The Russian sighed dubiously, but as he had said before, he had nothing better to do with his time.

"First question," the Klingon said as the Human moved forward a knight. "Who is the best chess player on the Enterprise?"

The question was so unexpectedly inoffensive, the lieutenant almost laughed out loud.

"I trust that information wouldn't endanger the security of the Federation." Kboexi carefully placed a pawn.

Chekov sighed and shook his head. "Mr. Spock is the best at chess." he said, making a replying move.

Kboexi smiled. "You've played against him?"

"Yes," his guest replied parsimoniously.

"Just once?"

"A few times."

Kboexi moved his royal consort. "Have you ever played chess with Captain Kirk?"

"No." The lieutenant replied to the question and the move unhesitatingly.

"Does he play?"

"Yes."

"But Spock is the better player?"

Chekov's mouth threatened to twist into a smile. "I think so."

"Why is that funny?" Kboexi asked, leaning forward eagerly.

The Russian looked at him for a moment, then relented with a sigh. "Once, a friend and I watched the two of them play. We made a small wager..."

"You bet on Spock," the Klingon speculated.

"Yes."

"And lost?"

Chekov nodded. "Mr. Spock is the better player, but the Captain is unorthodox -- hard to predict." The navigator paused, looking at the almost comical look of fascination on his host's face. "Is that enough to satisfy you?"

Kboexi was quite pleased and content that he'd gotten more of interest to him out of his guest in five minutes than Korzra had gotten in five hours. "No," he said, nonetheless. "I'm unbearably titillated now and almost sorry I asked. I'll be up half the night thinking about it."

"And the transcript?" the lieutenant prompted.

The Vixharth hopped a knight over the Russian's line of defenses. "I'll see what I can do about obtaining one."

"Pardon me," Chekov said with stern politeness as he countered with a rook. "But I think you already have it."

Kboexi slid his royal consort diagonally instead of answering. "I believe I have you in check."

Chekov captured her with an inoffensive seeming pawn. "Checkmate."

"You are *much* better at this than I thought," the Klingon said ruefully. "I'll let you see the transcript if you'll answer one more question for me."

"I don't know Captain Kirk's shoe size," Chekov warned ironically.

"I understand that you tried to escape during the hunt because you felt that was your duty as an officer," Kboexi began seriously. "But why haven't you tried to escape from Kahrag's apartment?"

The lieutenant frowned and sighed. He picked up a rook and placed it in the center of the board. "Here are Kahrag's quarters," he said, and pointed to the surrounding squares. "This is a drilling ground. This is a practice field. These are target ranges. These are cadet barracks. And here..." The lieutenant picked up a handful of pawns and placed them around the rook. "Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Sentry post. Where am I to go?"

Kboexi raised an eyebrow at what he recognized to be a fairly accurate diagram of the Imperial Training Institute. "I see why the Master Gunner doesn't let you out more often. You're a very observant young man."

"I would like to read the transcript," Chekov said, ignoring the flattery.

"And a very persistent one too," the Vixharth observed.

Both of them started at the echoes of a commotion in the lower portion of the house.

The Klingon recovered first. "Well, it will have to wait until after dinner, now," he said, signaling a page to remove the chessboard.

"Why?"

"Either we're being invaded," Kboexi answered dryly, heading for the door "or my sister has arrived."

Chekov lay back among the pillows and listened to the commotion in the house. 'Princess Kmit makes quite an entrance,' he thought wearily. The chess game had tired him more than he liked to admit. He dozed.

Feeling gentle fingers brushing the hair off his brow, Chekov woke to find Kboexi holding a glass of water for him. The room was dark except for the low lamp by the bed. Still, Chekov noticed Kmit in the room, looking on behind her brother. He nodded at her as he sat up and took the glass from the Vixharth.

"You should mix in some Msizra wine with that, K-bo," she said softly, "it would buck him immensely."

"Krossoro left very strict instructions, Sister, and we are following them to the letter," he informed her before turning back to Chekov. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired," Chekov admitted, "but fine, I think."

"I hope I did not overtax you this afternoon..." Kboexi began.

"What did you do this afternoon with him?" Kmit wanted to know.

"Played chess. As I was saying..."

"WHAT'S CHESS?" she boomed.

"A game we play on Terra, Princess," Chekov supplied in Klingonese.

"Oh," she said, examining him. "You do look worn out, Chekov. Probably not up to another run through the woods, eh?"

Chekov shook his head. "Not tonight."

Kmit chuckled, "Why you'd ever want to run away from that sexy Norther I do not know."

"I do not like him."

"Oh? Would you be happier here? You have only to say the word," she was quite taken with the idea. "Yes? What do you think, little Chekov?"

Chekov lowered his eyes to cover his confusion at this sudden and unexpected proposal.

Kboexi rose from Chekov's bedside. "Come, Sister, Chekov needs his sleep." Taking her by the elbow, he firmly steered her out of the room. He managed to smile and roll his eyes at Chekov as they exited.

Once the door had closed, Tzo stepped out of the shadows to hypospray Chekov with the supplemental nutrients Krossoro had ordered and tuck him in. "I agree with the princess," he said softly, lowering the lamp.

"I don't belong on this planet," Chekov murmured, dropping off again, "anywhere."

***

Chekov spent the next morning sitting in the sun, wrapped in blankets, on the terrace reading the transcript of his interrogation. He was torn between relief that he had not divulged anything ('what do I know to divulge?') and suspicions that Kboexi had doctored the record. He felt slightly guilty suspecting his host of such perfidious behavior but he reminded himself that this was Klingon and even paranoids have enemies.

"THERE YOU ARE, DEARIE," Kmit boomed as she came to sit beside him. "HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?"

"Better, thank you," Chekov said, honesty. "Have you been riding?" he asked, noting she was dressed for it.

"YES, YES. I BROUGHT DOWN A BRACE OF BRIGA TO TRAIN," she smiled at him. "WE LOST MORE THAN ZGI ON THAT AXKT HUNT."

Chekov lowered his eyes. "I was sorry he was killed; he was a good animal."

"It's all right, little one," Kmit said, quietly. "I understand. I would have done the same in your place."

Chekov looked up into sympathetic eyes and smiled.

"I hope Kmit is not tiring you, Lieutenant," Kboexi said, stepping onto the terrace. He was also in riding gear.

"I WAS JUST INVITING HIM TO RIDE WITH US, BROTHER."

"Are you up to it, Chekov?"

Chekov gave it a moment of serious thought and had to admit that, no, he was not but hopefully would be tomorrow.

"TOMORROW THEN," Kmit roared goodnaturedly and swept out.

Kboexi waited expectantly for Chekov to tell him what he and Kmit had talked about. He hoped she was not lobbying him to stay here. That would be awkward as Kboexi had not worked out how he felt about that himself.

"Your sister is very kind," Chekov said, handing the transcript to the Vixharth. "I apologized for getting Zgi killed."

"Brigas often die in hunts. It is part of their function."

Chekov nodded, choosing not to debate the Klingon philosophy of functionality at that time.

"Kmit had one sent down for you to ride when she learned you were here," Kboexi continued, "I hope you will feel well enough to ride in a day or two."

"She is *very* kind. I think I will be able to ride tomorrow," Chekov said quietly. "Thank you for allowing me to read that." He nodded at the transcript in the Vixharth's hands.

"Thank you for the chess lessons," Kboexi smiled at him, "perhaps you will continue my instruction after dinner?"

Chekov assured him that would be a pleasure. He returned the Vixharth's bow with a nod and turned to find Bjoz handing him a glass of water and a plate of fruit, which he happily accepted. There was also some kind of grain salad with dried fruit that was delicious. "This is delicious," he told the page.

"The cooks are in competition to find things you can eat that please you," Bjoz informed him, "they hope you will stay here. His grace smiles more when you are here."

Chekov held the page's eyes. "I hope you will stay here," Bjoz said, at last. "I shall be more careful about letting you kick me off my briga in future, though," he added, pointedly.

"Oh, I can believe that," Chekov murmured into his glass and smiled.

***

"THIS KARHAG PERSON CALLED AND I INVITED HIM FOR A PICNIC ON RSUSHA," Kmit informed them at dinner. Rsusha was three days away. "THOUGHT WE'D GO TO THE MEADOW NEAR THE LAKE WHILE THE WEATHER IS STILL WARM ENOUGH FOR IT."

Chekov and Kboexi were silent.

"YOU KNOW, I DID NOT GET TO MEET THIS KAHRAG LAST TIME HE WAS HERE," she continued, wondering what was up. "YOU'RE RIGHT, K-BO, HE DOES RIDE LIKE A DEMON."

Kboexi nodded. Chekov looked into his plate.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Chekov blew out a resigned breath. "I do not enjoy Kahrag's company."

"Yet you belong to him."

Chekov answered her with a shrug.

"WHY DON'T YOU STAY HERE?"

"Really! SisterÖ"

"Kahrag would never let me go."

"So! You have thought of it," Kmit said smugly.

"Of course, since it here is all anyone about can talk," Chekov admitted and amended, "ahÖ since it is all anyone here can talk about, I mean."

"Oh, I understood," Kmit smiled at him, "I understood completely."

"KmitÖ" Kboexi began.

"THINGS CAN BE ARRANGED, CHEKOV."

"Kmit." The Vixharth said firmly. "You have not met Subcommander Kahrag yet, things are not as simple as they seem."

***

Princess Kmit's idea of a picnic involved sending twenty servants out to the meadow by the lake at the crack of dawn. They were on strict instructions to set up the marquee, tables, couches and rugs and to start cooking for the picnickers arrival on brigaback at midday.

Kahrag arrived at midmorning in excellent spirits. He was elated to see his concubine. "What are you wearing?" he asked, surveying Chekov in his long black embroidered gown and jet beaded slippers.

"What I am given to wear," Chekov informed him sourly.

"I find these western fashions odd but you wear them with such grace, my prize," he murmured reaching for Chekov.

"YES, HE'S QUITE CHARMING IN OUR EFFETE AND DECADENT WESTERN FASHION, IS HE NOT?" Kmit boomed, entering.

"He is quite charming in anything, your highness," Kahrag informed her suavely.

"AH!"

"If you will excuse me," Chekov made his escape, ostensibly to change into his riding gear.

They had a very pleasant ride over some of the same terrain they'd covered in the Axkt hunt. They rode beyond the trees and onto the plain Chekov could see from his room. Eventually, they steered their mounts along a ridge and beyond it was a large but narrow lake. Pages ran forward to take charge of the brigas as the party dismounted.

"WHY IS EVERYONE SO QUIET?" Kmit asked thunderingly.

Rather than answer, her half-brother pointed Chekov towards a heavily pillowed couch with a reclining back. "You seem fatigued, Lieutenant. Perhaps you'd like to lie down?"

"I'm fine," the navigator replied, loosening the ties that held his riding gloves in place.

"Do as you're told," Kahrag commanded, stepping in and plucking the coverings from his captive's hands.

Chekov pulled away. "I'm not a child or a possession," he informed the gunner coldly. "There is no need to order me about."

"Do as you're told," Kahrag repeated, unfazed as he handed the gloves to a waiting page, "or I'll pick you up and put you where you belong."

"WHAT'S THAT STRANGE LANGUAGE YOU'RE SPEAKING?" Kmit asked, loudly breaking the tense silence.

"It's what the Earthers call Standard, sister," Kboexi said, putting a gentle hand on the navigator's shoulder to escort him towards the couch. "It's a Terran language."

"OH, TERRAN," Kmit mused, sitting down on a lounge near the one the lieutenant was being settled into. "DOESN'T SOUND VERY FRIENDLY."

"Well, tone does have something to do with it," Kboexi observed as Kahrag curtly gestured the servants attending Chekov aside. To the lieutenant's obvious displeasure, the gunner sat down at the foot of the couch and finished the job of unlacing his charge's heavy riding boots himself. "We're having a traditional meal of kzee roast over an open flame - Well, most of us are. There's a special dish for the lieutenant, of course. Kmit, Subcommander, will you come with me to oversee the final searing of your meat?"

The Klingon princess rose, but Kahrag stayed in place. "I trust your cooks," he said, massaging Chekov tiny-seeming Human toes between his huge fingers.

"YOU'RE A BRAVER MAN THAN I THOUGHT," Kmit snorted, heading towards the brazier.

"I would prefer," Chekov said quietly, as she shouted her detailed preferences to the servants, "that you do not touch me."

The gunner smiled and stroked one of the lieutenant's warm pink cheeks. "Why? Does it embarrass you, my prize?"

"Yes," Chekov answered, taking the opportunity to pull his feet away.

"Well, then," Kahrag replied, reclaiming them firmly and placing them in a waiting pair of padded slippers, "if you wish to avoid being truly shamed before these fine people, you'll be careful to improve both your attitude and your behavior."

The navigator frowned forbiddingly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Is this what experience tells you?" the Klingon asked mildly.

Since his experiences with Kahrag indicated quite the opposite, the lieutenant scowled but remained silent.

"Is Kboexi treating you well?" the gunner asked, unhooking the closure on the heavy topcoat the Vixharth had insisted his guest wear against the morning chill.

Chekov narrowed his eyes. "Are you asking if he's sleeping with me?"

Kahrag shrugged as he pushed the coat down his charge's shoulders. "Is that your idea of good treatment?"

"No," the navigator answered pointedly.

Kahrag finished removing the coat, folded it and put it aside. "Then how is he treating you?"

"Very well, thank you," the lieutenant answered coolly as the Klingon covered him with a thick, warm blanket.

"HOW ATTENTIVE YOU ARE, SUB-COMMANDER," Kmit said, as she and her brother returned with servants bearing platters. "IT MUST BE A TERRIBLE INCONVENIENCE FOR A BUSY MAN SUCH AS YOURSELF TO HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH VALUABLE TIME AND PRECIOUS RESOURCES CARING FOR AN ALIEN CONCUBINE."

"It can be a trial," Kahrag admitted, accepting a plate. "But not nearly so great a one as *not* having him there to care for."

"I heard our mutual acquaintance Klnta had most unfortunate accident the other day," Kboexi rapidly changed the subject as he took up a place casually seated on the ground before the lieutenant's lounge.

Chekov recoiled from his captor. "You murdered him," he surmised.

"No," Kahrag contradicted, calmly tearing into a small, roasted bird with his fingers, "I didn't even kill him."

"But the two of you did have a... disagreement?" Kboexi asked, using a knife to do the same.

The gunner ripped most of the flesh from one drumstick in a single bite. "We had discussion about judgment and professional ethics."

"More than a discussion, I heard," the Vixharth said.

"Klnta did make some comments about our relative skill at the rglat," Kahrag conceded.

"Rglat?" Chekov repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

"A bladed dueling weapon," Kboexi informed his pupil.

Chekov turned back to Kahrag. "What happened?"

The gunner shrugged and tossed the bones of his portion of kzee into a waiting bin near the foot of the couch. "I found that Klnta had grossly overestimated his level of expertise."

Princess Kmit gave a short bark of laughter. "AND WHAT DID THIS LESSON IN HUMILITY COST YOUR RASH OPPONENT?"

Kahrag flipped another leg bone into the bin. "The leg will heal."

"And the arm?" Kboexi prompted.

Kahrag shrugged. "He was right handed, at any rate."

"You cut off his arm?" Chekov asked, disgusted.

"No." The gunner bared his teeth and tore into a succulent breast piece. "I merely shortened it somewhat."

Kmit gave another laugh. "I'VE ALWAYS HEARD THAT'S THE WAY NORTHERNERS LIKE TO DEAL WITH A PROBLEM."

"Yes," Kahrag said, looking at Kboexi. "We do prefer to deal with matters man to man and face to face."

"AND IF SUCH CRUDE METHODS ARE INAPPROPRIATE?" Kmit asked.

"Then, like all creatures, Your Highness," Kahrag answered, "we have to adapt."

"You see, Sister," Kboexi said, handing his plate to a waiting servant. "As I told you, the sub-commander has a very quick tongue for a Northerner."

"YOU GIVE A COMPLIMENT WITH ONE HAND AND TAKE IT AWAY WITH THE OTHER," Kmit replied, dumping her collection of bones into a bin. "TO SAY HE IS QUICK WITTED FOR A NORTHERNER IS LIKE SAYING HE SEES WELL FOR A BLIND MAN."

"Sub-commander, there's a matter I'd like your opinion on," Kboexi said rising and once more hastily redirecting the conversation. "The cooks have prepared a version of l'kan for the lieutenant. I'm not certain of it, though. Since you are more familiar with Krossoro's guidelines than I, I'd like to get your judgment on a few of the ingredients, if possible?"

After pausing to shoot a warning look at Chekov, the gunner rose and followed the Vixharth.

The navigator turned to find Kboexi's half-sister watching him.

"He is a brute, even though he's a clever and good-looking one," she said, nodding towards Kahrag. "I wonder that you stay with him."

"I don't have a choice," Chekov replied sinking sullenly back into his pillows.

"Yes, you do," Kmit replied, pausing to taste a roasted tuber. "Kahrag is in the military. It is a precarious existence. He could easily have an accident even more unfortunate than the interrogator's."

Chekov shook his head. "I won't be the cause of a murder." Thinking, 'unless I'm escaping.'

"Is it just that?" Kmit asked, her light eyes glittering. "I sense it might be more. Your aspect changes entirely when Kahrag is here. Usually you're sweet, but mousy. When the gunner is around, you're full of fire."

The navigator chose to ignore her observation in favor of picking at his food discontentedly.

"When he touches you," she continued, "you squirm and pout like a teen-aged prostitute."

Chekov narrowed his eyes. "I do not understand your implication, Your Highness."

Kmit bit into a fried vegetable, found it not to her liking, and spat it out. "I think your feelings for the gunner are stronger than you've said."

"I do have strong feelings," Chekov said, frowning at his hostess. "I hate him."

"Then stay here," she suggested.

"It is not... my power... of choice," the navigator answered, awkwardly groping for the correct Klingon phrases. "I mean to say, I cannot by choosing.... alterations in circumstance..." Chekov paused and abandoned his already hopelessly convoluted sentence. "All I want is to go home."

"Back to the Federation?" Kmit asked. "How can you achieve that?"

The navigator discontentedly rolled a grain across his plate with his spoon. "I don't know."

"Do you really believe you can run away and escape as you tried to last time?"

"Probably not," Chekov admitted.

"Are you expecting comrades to liberate you?"

The navigator sighed. "No."

"Then you should stop childishly wishing for what you can't have and deal with your problems in the here and now," Kmit advised.

Two of the lieutenant's main problems in the here and now, Kboexi and Kahrag, ambled back together, followed by servants bearing dishes of what looked like ice cream.

"Kahrag was just telling me that he and his grandfather used to sleep under a tent like this and hunt wild kzee when he was a child," the Vixharth said, motioning for the servants to generally distribute the desert.

"HOW QUAINT," Kmit said, accepting her bowl.

"It was necessary." Kahrag took Chekov's uneaten portion away without asking and handed him a small, topping-less serving of the fluffy white mixture. "My parents were both fatalities of the attack on Gonden IV. Although they died honorably in battle, we were denied their pensions for a time because the campaign was considered an ignoble defeat for Admiral Kondra... The tent we lived in was not quite as pleasant as this one."

An uneasy silence settled.

"WE HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON, THEN," Kmit said, breaking it at last. "MY FATHER WAS COUSIN TO KONDRA."

"And uncle to the future emperor," Kahrag added, nodding. "Were it not for the rising fortunes of the Vznaht clan, I suppose I might be living in a tent still."

"I was not aware you were related to the Emperor," Chekov said to Kboexi.

"I'm not, really," the Vixharth answered. "Except through Kmit's side of the family. Please, everyone, the l'klan is best eaten warm."

Chekov took a spoonful. The mixture was sweet and bland like rice pudding.

"MY MOTHER WAS OF A MILITARY FAMILY, LIKE KAHRAG'S," Kmit said, between mouthfuls. "SHE GREW IMPATIENT WITH COURT INTRIGUES AND LEFT MY FATHER FOR KBOEXI'S FATHER."

"Only to find that she liked the quiet gloom of this place even less," Kboexi added.

Kmit snorted. "PERHAPS. SHE CONTINUED TO SHUTTLE BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN HER TWO FAMILIES FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE -- ALWAYS CLAIMING TO HATE BOTH."

"A truly independent woman," the Vixharth concluded with wry affection.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU NEED, KAHRAG," Kmit said, shaking a finger at the gunner. "NOT SOME SKINNY ALIEN BOY, BUT A GOOD, STRONG KLINGON WOMAN TO SEE TO YOUR NEEDS."

Kahrag nodded. "That could be helpful. If the woman was clever, aggressive, rich, and powerful..."

Kmit grinned at this flirtatiousness.

"...then she might be able to help me figure out ways to keep my concubine at home," the gunner concluded dourly.

Kboexi sighed heavily, growing weary of the continual sparring. "Perhaps you'd like to take him back with you today."

"Yes," Kahrag said, smiling genuinely for the first time that afternoon. "I would. Thank you, Your Grace."

***

"As you see, this place has not changed in your absence," Kahrag said, when the two of them stepped inside his quarters later. Putting a hand on his captive's shoulder, he guided the navigator to the center of the room. "Neither have my rules," the gunner continued, turning Chekov to face him. "You must obey me in all matters or suffer the consequences."

The lieutenant lowered his eyes, ashamed to admit that it was somewhat comforting to be back in familiar settings and away from the prying eyes of the Vixharth's legion of servants.

Kahrag lifted his chin. "Is that clear?"

Chekov avoided his gaze and shrugged.

"Good," the gunner replied, seeming to take this as assent. He took the lieutenant by the shoulders and turned him towards the bed. "Undress and lie down," he ordered, giving his captive a little push in that direction.

"I... I don't want...." Chekov began, but the Klingon had already headed for the bathroom. He looked around. The last rays of the setting sun glowed through the open skylights augmenting the artificial lighting. The room was chilly. Noticing there was no fire in the hearth, the navigator automatically took a step in that direction.

"Leave that," Kahrag commanded, reappearing with a bottle of the skin lotion he favored. He smeared a generous dollop across the lieutenant's wind-burned cheeks. "I'm surprised the Vixharth was so careless with your delicate complexion. Are your arms still bruised?"

The lotion tingled pleasantly. "A little."

"Take that off," Kahrag said, nodding at the clothes Kboexi had provided for the navigator as he poured more lotion into his hands.

Chekov shrugged off the overcoat and black overgown, then rolled up the sleeves of the warm gray undertunic.

"All of it," Kahrag ordered.

"It's not necessary," Chekov replied stubbornly.

The gunner sighed impatiently, then wiped the lotion on his hands messily on to the lieutenant's arms before pushing them out of the way.

"Did you think of me often during your sojourn with Kboexi?" he asked, unlacing the front of Chekov's undertunic.

"Every time I washed my hands," the lieutenant answered wryly making reference to his tattoo.

Kahrag grinned and pulled him forward into a quick, hungry kiss. "I am pleased that you are back, my prize," he said, pulling free the last of the lacings.

"I'm not," Chekov retorted.

The Klingon smiled as he began unfastening the lieutenant's long underpants. "You will be," he assured his captive. "At least these clothes keep you warm," he mused pulling them off. He lifted the Human in his arms and carried him to the bed.

"Did you miss me?" Kahrag inquired again, gently laying Chekov on the bedcover.

"No."

"Not at all?" The Klingon lightly stroked the Human's burgeoning erection.

"No."

"Your body makes a liar out of you, my prize," he murmured, rising to disrobe. Naked, he lay next to Chekov, not touching him, simply devouring him with his eyes. "You're thinner," he announced, tracing the Human's ribs with a gentle finger. "What did you think of the West?"

"The what?" Chekov asked, wearily.

"The West, where Kboexi's family is from." Kahrag lay back, musing, "That family is ancient. Some say corrupt and decadent, if not downright evil. The West is strange. It's flat and empty land, hard to grow food there, the soil is bad. Even the sunlight is strange there, like it has no spirit in it. Like it would suck the life out of a man. The people are tough as nails but they would never let you know it. They bend when they should break. They triumph because everybody else breaks and they are left on top. That's why you have to be careful with Kboexi; he's sly and gets what he wants by going in the opposite direction. He and his sister might be the most powerful Klingons alive but few realize it. The Princess installed the Emperors favorite concubine in his bed for him, so she's not just well favored, she's well informed. Kboexi and Kmit pull strings in both the Haat and Yhet clans, but if you look for them, there's no trace of them. It's like those two dimensional beings you can't see if they stand sideways. The missing dimension in all westerners is a soul." He reached over to gently stroke Chekov's flank, "This is why Kboexi's attention concerns me. I do not understand these people, certainly you cannot understand them either."

"At least they do not sexually molest me," Chekov informed him, removing the Klingon's hand.

"Not yet," Kahrag said, replacing his hand, "There are worse things than sexual molestation, my prize."

Choosing not to debate this, Chekov drew away and stared stoically at the ceiling. This activity was complicated by Kahrag pulling him into his arms. "I'm very tired, Klingon," he said firmly.

"Yes," Kahrag murmured, "then lie still; this will relax you." He began to kiss a path down the navigator's chest.

"I..."

"Shall I get the gag or would you rather fetch it?" He watched Chekov shake his head. "Good. Progress." Kahrag drew the Human to him and kissed his firmly and deeply. "I think a bath would be pleasant," he announced, hauling Chekov out of bed with him. "Go run one." He propelled the Human toward the bathroom.

Seeing no viable alternative, Chekov did as he was told, running the bath hotter than he knew the Klingon liked.

The Klingon walked in and turned off the hot water. He handed Chekov a glass of Msizra and kissed his captive's neck as he watched to tub fill. "In you go," Kahrag said cheerfully, nudging Chekov's backside with his erection.

The Human shuddered in disgust but obeyed. 'What else can I do here?' he wondered sadly.

"What did you and Princess Kmit talk about at lunch?" Kahrag demanded, soaping a sponge.

"The impossibility of escape or rescue from the homeworld," Chekov replied obediently.

"That should be obvious," Kahrag said shortly, reaching for his captive.

Chekov surrendered himself to the Klingon's hands and tried not to enjoy it. It was futile, Kahrag knew him too well. The Russian tried to take his mind far away was the Klingon played his powerful fingers over the head of his cock, so gently, so carefully that Chekov's climax was more of a sigh than a shout.

Kahrag cuddled the breathless Human on his lap for a moment longer. He was enjoying the feel of Chekov against him; he had missed it, badly, during the little Human's absence. "You are quiet, my prize."

"There is nothing to say," Chekov sighed sadly.

"Are you unhappy?" the Klingon ventured, brushing the Human's anus with his fingertips.

"Of course." Chekov snapped, squirming away.

Kahrag said nothing, but smiled a little to himself, 'ah, that sounds more like my prize, now.' He soaped his fingers and began to work them inside. He took extra care due to the Human's prolonged celibacy.

Chekov cursed mentally as his cock began to harden again. He knew Kahrag noticed but was relieved the Klingon choose not to mention it as he positioned him over the side of the tub.

Pausing to debate this angle over that, Kahrag pushed Chekov's legs a little farther apart and centered his cock. He drew the navigator toward him until the slippery head popped in. He paused to allow Chekov to savor the feeling of them together again. Nearly swooning with pleasure, Kahrag slowly pressed all the way in and began to fuck his captive with long, slow strokes. He was gentle; he knew the Human was out of practice. He reached around to stroke Chekov's raging erection, finding its texture and temperature as pleasing as ever. The Klingon did not dally, he knew there would be more sex later, for now he simply wanted to get them both off thus taking the urgency of their lengthy abstinence. (Kahrag decided the nooner with Geshas didn't count.) Feeling Chekov's cock jerking in his hand, Kahrag came with a voluptuous sigh and leaned his forehead between his captive's shoulders. Pulling out gently, he cuddled the Human on his chest so they could catch their breath. He pulled Chekov to his feet, dried him tenderly and carried him to bed.

Chekov shrugged off the Klingon's good-night kiss and rolled over to sleep. He was tired and two orgasms in quick succession always made him sleepy as well.

Kahrag spent a moment more admiring his concubine before he rose and went to his desk. He read over the Intelligence Unit's report that Kahrag's concubine knew nothing of military or political value to the military. Lt. PA Chekov would therefore remain in Subcommander Kahrag's care until such time as it might be possible to exchange him for a ranking Klingon prisoner.

Kahrag sat back and thought about that. Command was throwing him a bone for being so patient and pleasant about Chekov's 'hostage' status. The upper echelons knew as well as he did that there were no Klingon prisoners in the Federation and that the peace was holding with no end in sight. Dammed diplomats. But, if Kahrag were honest, he was not displeased that Chekov would be with him indefinitely. The Klingon *had* suffered from his absence: the Terran was like a drug to him now. Kahrag went to bed mulling these thought over. He drew his sleeping captive into his arms, breathed in his sweetness and held him through the night.

***

"Why do I have to undress if you only take my blood pressure and check my respiration?" Chekov demanded.

Krossoro scowled at him as he put away his instruments. "I liked it better when you could talk less."

It was several weeks later. Winter had descended in earnest. Krossoro had visited them several times. Kboexi had not.

"Dress and be quiet," Kahrag ordered, pouring a measure of llarth for his friend. He was worried about his captive. Chekov had resumed his life as the gunner's housekeeper and concubine more subdued than he had left it. Kahrag had assumed this somberness was an aftereffect of the lieutenant's interrogation. He'd gone to some trouble to obtain a transcript of the proceedings for the navigator, only to be informed that Kboexi had already done so. "Do you want a drink?" he asked, pouring a small measure for his charge.

"No," Chekov replied automatically as he shouldered into the heavy knitted overtunic the gunner had purchased to winterize his garments.

Kahrag pushed the glass to the far side of table beside him so the lieutenant could retrieve it later without having to ask. He turned to his countryman, "Why *do* you have him undress to take his blood pressure?" he asked in dialect.

Krossoro shrugged and took a seat near the fire. "Force of habit."

"I suppose we're lucky that you don't forget yourself and hook him up to a mind scanner each time," Kahrag said, settling into a chair nearby.

Chekov had by this time unobtrusively retrieved his portion of llarth and taken it by the window to drink as he watched the snow settle into the courtyard before Kahrag's quarters. He seemed to spend a lot of time watching the snow these days.

"Is he ill?" Kahrag asked, nodding towards his captive.

"Hmmm." Krossoro considered. "Does he drink llarth often?"

"He seems to want it," Kahrag said a little guiltily, "and takes it if I offer it."

The interrogator nodded sagely. "And is he sleeping more than usual?"

"Yes." The gunner had found his captive napping in the afternoon more than once.

"Then he's either pining for Kboexi," Krossoro concluded, "or it's the weather."

"The weather?" Kahrag repeated, choosing the alternative he liked better.

"Lack of sunlight causes Humans to suffer depression," the interrogator informed him. "Keep a Human in darkness for a week and he'll break three times faster in questioning."

The gunner frowned, although this explanation was pleasingly plausible. "What can I do? I don't control the sun."

"He needs to go outside more often," Krossoro advised. "He needs more exercise anyway -- other than in bed. The little slut would be getting fat by now if we were feeding him more. There are special lights the Humans use on their ships to keep them cheerful. I'll see if I can obtain one." The interrogator rose as he finished his drink. "Find something to keep him busy," he said, picking up his case of instruments. Krossoro crossed to Chekov, plucked the glass from between the navigator's fingers, and drained it. "And no more llarth."

"It will be as you say, cousin," Kahrag agreed, opening the door for his friend. After the door was secured behind the interrogator, the gunner and his captive exchanged a long look.

"Am I sick?" Chekov asked.

"No." Kahrag came to stand behind his captive. He put his arms around the little Human and rubbed his cheek against the sweet-smelling brown hair. "Just lazy. He says you need to go outside and be active rather than moping in front of the window all day with a glass of llarth for company."

Chekov sighed and passively let himself be cuddled like an oversized toy. The affectionate contact was pleasant --even from the man on whom he blamed all his current miseries. The lieutenant's new perspective on the impossibly of escape or rescue from these circumstances had been weighing heavily on him in the past few weeks. And although he was relieved he'd not divulged anything under the chemical interrogation (Kahrag's transcript had matched Kboexi's word for word) he still felt like a traitor -- giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Primarily comfort. Lots of comfort. High quality comfort on demand, in fact...

Kahrag nibbled his ear as the lieutenant stared out the narrow window. "Do you miss Kboexi, my sweet?"

"Yes," Chekov admitted unhesitatingly. "Did you have an argument with him?"

"No," the gunner soothed, kissing his little lover's soft white neck. He was certain that if his captive were truly pining for the Vixharth, he wouldn't admit to it so readily. "I'm sure he's just been busy."

Chekov sighed again. The Vixharth had also been on the lieutenant's mind quite often. The navigator had considered Kmit's offer and found himself rejecting it over and over. At least he could tell himself that he hated Kahrag and did not willingly have sex with him. He was even less sure of his feelings for Kboexi.

The pangs he'd felt at the Vixharth's absence had caused the lieutenant to question their relationship. Were his Klingonese lessons merely a pleasant diversion, or was he beginning to feel something more for this strange Klingon duke? This made the possibility of being transferred to the Vixharth's estate even more problematic. How lost would he be if he gave in to what he might feel for Kboexi? Chekov was sure it would be the last of his sanity deserting him.

"Starting tomorrow," Kahrag promised, his hands beginning to roam enticingly over the Human's body, "you give up this sedentary life. Every morning before the cadets arrive and every afternoon after they leave, I'll take you for a march around the parade field. Every day, I'll arrange some new sport for you. We Klingons have created many pleasant ways to while away the long winter days. Ice sports, skiing, targ hunting... There are also clever entertainments -- winter festivals, snow pageants... Would it cheer you to see them, my sweet?"

The gunner's hands had begun to work their familiar magic. Chekov could feel his pulse quickening and his resistance melting.

"I'll even call that dog Kboexi and see if he won't resume your lessons," Kahrag continued, his breath tickling the back of the Russian's neck maddeningly. "Will that please my little pet?"

The lieutenant was alarmed by the way that promise made his heart jump.

"Hmm?" the gunner prompted, squeezing him tight. "Will it please you?"

Chekov nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good." Kahrag turned his captive and turned his blushing face up for a deep kiss. Afterwards he smiled with satisfaction. "And so to bed," the gunner said, easily lifting his Human into his arms.

Chekov did not resist; what was the point? He allowed the gunner to undress and caress him. He let his mind go pleasantly blank, neither enjoying nor disliking what was happening. At least until Kahrag began to nuzzle the base of his cock and fondle his balls at the same time. The Russian steeled himself to not react but it was impossible; the Klingon knew him too well by then, knew his pleasure from A-Z.

Gently caressing his captive's balls and perineum, Kahrag played his lips around the Human's rosy cockhead. Not devouring it, but teasing and amusing himself with its taste and texture. The Klingon found Chekov delicious and he was totally addicted to him. Unable to hold back any longer, Kahrag slid his lips down the length of the Human's shaft and began to suck with his powerful throat muscles.

Very aroused to begin with, Chekov didn't last long. He arched against his captor and came with a low, sensuous groan.

Kahrag held him a little longer before rising and closing the curtains. "You will have a strenuous morning tomorrow and need your sleep," he growled tenderly. "And then, of course, we will go for our walk as soon as we get out of bed."

***

Chekov was moodily poking at the fire he'd built to brighten the snowy twilight when Kahrag arrived home for the evening several days later. The gunner was carrying a basket of something. The Russian looked up as Kahrag set his burden down next to him.

"He is for you," the Klingon said simply in Klingonese.

The Russian's eyes widened as a curious pair of cobalt eyes stared back at him through the slats. "It is living."

Kahrag couldn't help smiling at his surprise. "Yes."

"What is it?" Chekov peered at the little creature peering at him.

"We call it a Hunting Pippet. His name is Mxy."

The lieutenant frowned. "His name is 'number five'?"

"Yes, the trainer names them in order of their training." Kahrag began to wonder if the Human was ever going to open the basket. He was intrigued to see a little purple paw reaching out to stroke Chekov's indigo leggings.

When Chekov opened the lid, a small purple-furred primate climbed onto the navigator's knee. The creature had an anatomical feature the Russian had never seen on a species like this one. "What is on his wings, Klingon?"

"It's so he did not injure himself in transport," Kahrag said slowly so the Human could understand.

"Can I take it off?" At Kahrag's nod, the Russian very gently undid the padded clasp. Mxy majestically spread his supple gray wings to their full span as if to impress the Human with his beauty.

The pippet *was* trying to impress this strange white creature with his beauty; he half suspected this might be a related species because it sure as hell wasn't a Klingon.

Chekov smiled a little for the first time in days and Kahrag knew he'd spent his money well.

"They are very good at retrieving, Human," Kahrag bent to take a toy out of the basket but backed off when Mxy barred his very impressive, but filed down, teeth and claws at him (filed down but still capable of doing quite a bit of damage). The gunner leaned back to watch the pippet pick out a red ball and hand it to Chekov.

"Do I throw?" the lieutenant asked.

The little winged monkey wrapped his tiny hands around the Russian's wrist and jerked it as if urging him to toss. When Chekov obliged, Mxy scurried away quickly enough to pick the ball out of the air, wheel and bring it back.

The navigator laughed in delighted surprise. He looked at Kahrag, who was watching him. "What is it for?"

The gunner shrugged, careful not to let his pleasure show too much. "It is for you. Something to keep you company. Training it will also keep your mind occupied."

"Train?" Chekov protested, pausing to duck and laugh as the little primate crawled across his shoulders. "I know nothing."

The gunner fished a cassette out of his pocket. "I purchased a text for you as well."

The little pippet was now tugging at the sleeves of the lieutenant's shirt, urging Chekov to make a cradle with his arms for him to lie in.

"A fine animal and gentle, too," Kahrag observed, seeing Mxy roll over to have his belly scratched. "A shame," he said carefully switching to Standard for clarity, "that you cannot work him outside until the snows are gone."

"Is he warm?" Chekov asked, still in Klingonese, scratching Mxy's amethyst belly fur.

"He is from a warm place, yes," the Klingon said, back in his native tongue.

The pippet was too excited to stay still very long. When he began to squirm, the lieutenant extended his arms so Mxy could return to his basket.

"I assume you expect me to be grateful," Chekov said in Standard as the pippet held up each of his toys in turn, making chattering noises as if to explain them.

Kahrag snorted. "I'm neither an optimist nor a fool," he said gruffly, as he rose and ambled to the kitchen to make himself dinner... and enjoy from a discreet distance the sight and sound of his charge relaxed and happy for the first time in weeks.

***

Chekov watched his mischievous pet over the top of his reader. Mxy seemed to be asleep, but after only one day the lieutenant had learned that didn't necessarily mean the pippet *was* asleep. Chekov was anxious to get to the part of the text that advised a new owner on how to deal with the creature's penchant for practical jokes.

The homeworld, the text said, occasionally produces a species that seems divinely inspired. The Hunting Pippet was one such animal. The little winged primate possessed a tactical hunting intelligence and viciousness that had made it dear to the hearts of Klingon hunters for centuries.

Pippets in the wild hunted in packs. Lead by the alpha pippet, the little animals, as a pack, were able to flush and run down larger prey.

This was an interesting development in a vegetarian primate. Animal behaviorists have speculated that the pippets developed their social order and tactical skills to drive predators out of their territory. Fun loving little animals, this behavior became part of their play, leading to a social structure so martial in character that they occasionally made war on the local klingonoid forest dwelling tribes. Still possessing larger brainpans, these tribes retaliated by domesticating the pippets (somewhat) and selling them to the more advanced, northern klingoniod tribes, such as the Emperor's court and his powerful vassals.

A small number of Hunting Pippets were bred just outside the capital city. The most famous breeder was an ancient ex-slave, who'd won his freedom on a bet that his pippet could out hunt the Emperor's pippet. He won his bet and was freed by the Emperor himself (the slave's former master had died of a bad case of execution, the usual condition arising from outdoing the Klingon Emperor at anything in any way). The freedbeing's name was PM, which was short for pippet master, which was all the name he could ever remember having.

The pippets come from a warmer clime and therefore must be birthed, weaned and trained before the Klingon winter closes in. Separated by sex, the pecking order become clear in the nests. Runts and other weaklings are separated early to be raised by hand. The most superior hunters were the female packs (the male packs were efficient, but not showy, and make fine hunters for those who simply want to hunt and not impress their vassals). The fiercest alpha pippets are females and they made the best breeding stock as well.

Over time the breeders discovered that if you used logic and bred your top alpha female to your top alpha male, you ended up with a nest of psychotic and aggressive pups that had to be put down. The most efficient breeding was to mate the top alpha female with one of the runts, especially if the runt had a sweet temper, which they usually did because ill-tempered runts were put down as well. The runts were cultivated for another reason; they made excellent pets for children and concubines -- Chekov paused here to scowl at the word -- and were very much in demand, almost as much as the hunters.

The lieutenant was still boggling at the sort of prices listed for these so-called 'boudoir' pippets, when the doorchime rang. Mxy flew from his basket to the Human's side -- either to protect or be protected as the door opened.

"Your grace!" Chekov called, surprised as Kboexi entered dusting snow from his heavy fur coat.

"Why, hello," the Vixharth said, greeting both his pupil and the hissing pippet on his shoulder. "I see there's been a new addition here."

The Klingon made a noise that sounded very much like the chattering Mxy did when content and happy as he held out a hand for the little primate to perch on.

Chekov was pleasantly surprised that Mxy immediately flew to the Klingon and allowed himself to be petted. It had taken a half-hour of coaxing before he'd done as much for Geshas. The two had become fast friends, but it seemed as though the creature somehow knew that the arrival of his babysitter always indicated the imminent departure of his master. "It's a pippet," Chekov informed his guest, moving forward to take his coat.

"I know," Kboexi said, removing his outer garment slowly so as not to disturb Mxy. "I've had several in my time. Is it yours?"

"Yes." The lieutenant hung the coat up by the door, before returning to retrieve his pet. "It's name is Mxy."

"Which means?" his tutor prompted.

"Number five," Chekov replied, pleased to know the answer. He snapped his fingers to get the attention of Mxy, who was more interested in examining the Vixharth's hair than obeying him.

Kboexi smiled as the little primate scampered up his owner's arm to sit on the Human's shoulder and chatter excitedly into his ear about their visitor. "Kahrag is spoiling you."

The navigator's smile faded. "Don't say that." After an uneasy half second of silence, Chekov asked, "Would you like some tea, your grace?"

"Hot, please," Kboexi replied, settling himself into one of Kahrag's chairs. "How do you like our Klingon winters?" he called to his pupil in Klingonese.

"There is a large snow," his pupil called back from the kitchen. "And the daylight is little."

"It snows often," the Vixharth corrected. "And the days are short."

"It snows often," the lieutenant repeated experimentally as he came back balancing two steaming cups and an enthusiastic but unhelpful pippet. "Can't I say, 'the snow is large'?"

"No." Kboexi accepted the cup and inadvertently the pippet. "You could say, 'there is a large amount of snow' or 'it snows a lot'."

"There is a large *amount of* snow, " Chekov repeated, now recognizing his mistake. "Yes, I see."

"I'm pleased to see you..." Kboexi took a sip of tea. "... in such a good mood. I've heard Humans dislike this sort of weather."

"Oh, it's fine." Chekov snapped for Mxy, who was now searching their guest's pockets, to return to him. "I like snow. Kahrag's having a pair of uslchs made for me." Uslchs were the short fat skis Klingons preferred. "Since I don't have bone ridges on my feet the way you do, they had to be specially made."

"Hmm." Kboexi raised an eyebrow. "Pippet, custom designed uslchs... How does the gunner afford it all on a subcommander's pay?"

"I don't know." The navigator experienced a momentary pang of guilt. "I've never thought of it.... I don't ask him for these things."

"I didn't mean to imply that you did," the Vixharth soothed.

After contemplating this for an uncomfortable moment, the lieutenant decided that a change of subject was in order. He asked in Klingonese, "How is your sister?"

"Very well. She's quite determined to have you back with us..." Kboexi glanced up then added, "for another visit."

"Oh," Chekov replied politely. Another change of subject seemed to be in order. The Russian reached over and picked up a text book. "I would like for us to take things up where we left off," he suggested, then looking into the Vixharth's eyes, he felt it was necessary to add, " in the lessons."

"Certainly," Kboexi agreed, very politely.

***

Chekov knew he was in for an eventful night as soon as Kahrag entered his quarters that evening. Instead of speaking, the Klingon flashed his teeth at his captive. This peculiar facial gesture was neither a smile nor a growl. The lieutenant was not sure if Kahrag was fully aware he did it. The quick pulling back of the lips to facilitate a sharp intake of air through the nostrils seemed to be a purely animalistic response to the sight of prey. Chekov swallowed hard and forced himself to look back down at his reader. The expression always indicated the gunner was in a state of high arousal.

"Hello," the navigator said to put a veneer of civilization on the situation.

Kahrag removed his weapons and crossed to the cabinet where he stored them. "Where's your pet?"

Chekov noted that the Klingon's voice carried the sort of throaty rasp that was another clear indicator that he would not be in the mood for conversation for very long. "He's asleep on the bed."

Kahrag frowned at the drawn curtains. "On the bed?"

The lieutenant turned to look over his shoulder at his captor. "Yes. Sometimes I let him sleep there during the day. He's quieter longer with the curtains drawn."

The Klingon growled his critique but seemed willing to let this pass. He came up behind his charge, placing a possessive hand on the back of the navigator's neck. "What are you reading?"

"A text on pippets," Chekov answered, trying to ignore the shiver that touch sent down his spine. "A fictional text."

Kahrag's hand slid down the lieutenant's shoulder. He tugged lightly at the heavy sweater the Russian was wearing over his normal clothing. "Take that off," he ordered, walking away.

"Why?" The word slipped from Chekov's lips automatically.

"Because I wish it," the Klingon answered, drawing a bottle of llarth and a glass from a cabinet.

Although his manner was outwardly mild, there was a tone in the gunner's voice that left his captive with no doubt that refusal would not be tolerated. Chekov shouldered out of the garment and put it aside. It was too hot anyway. He turned back to his reader. It was hard to concentrate on the words however, when one was being watched with the same casual intensity a lion might use to stare at a rabbit.

"Fictional text on pippets?" Kahrag mused taking a swig of llarth. "Is it "Bluewing of North Tribe?"

"Yes." Chekov was surprised. The story, which Kboexi had assigned both to give him more information about his pet and to help him practice deciphering idiomatic phrases, seemed to be from a child's book. "Have you read it?"

"Long ago." Kahrag's eye traveled over his captive as he slowly licked his lips. "Take off your boots."

The lieutenant complied uneasily. Knowing that the sight of his feet was erotic for the Klingon, Chekov self-consciously pulled them up so he was sitting cross-legged in his chair.

Kahrag made no comment.

The lieutenant's hands were sweaty as he held the reader. He found himself scanning the same simple line over and over uncomprehendingly. He could hear the gunner's chair groan as the Klingon leaned back.

"The hearth needs tending."

Chekov looked at the fire which was burning rather low. Dutifully, the lieutenant put down the reader and crossed to the fireplace.

Kahrag watched and drank as his captive poked at the embers before deciding to throw on another log. "Put a rug out."

Chekov bypassed the nearest roll of floor covering and reached for a braided carpet.

"No." The Klingon's voice stopped him. "The other one."

Chekov swallowed hard before rolling out the long piece of stitched together white furs Kahrag wanted. The presence of this item was also an indicator from which one could predict the Klingon's plans for the evening with great accuracy.

"Come here," the gunner ordered huskily.

The lieutenant reluctantly stepped to within slightly over an arm's length of the Klingon.

Kahrag reached out and taking his captive by the waistband of his pants, pulled him forward. "I have a great desire for you," he informed the Human, using only three fingers of one hand to slowly unfasten the front of Chekov's tunic. "A very potent desire. I may not be so gentle with you as I usually try to be."

The lieutenant's heart was thudding in his chest. "Are you asking my permission?" His attempt at diffident defiance came out sounding rather choked and dry.

Kahrag glanced at his captive's face briefly before he continued to undress him. "No. If I were so foolish as to ask, you would feel compelled to refuse... And I do not wish the annoyance of being refused."

Chekov bristled at being termed a mere annoyance, but the Klingon only gave a toothy smile in response as he turned his captive and propelled him back towards the fireplace with a slap to his rump.

"Go lie down," he ordered. "On your belly."

The lieutenant pulled the shoulder of his tunic back up from where it had fallen. At this hint of rebellion, Kahrag rose and placed a guiding hand on his captive's neck. He casually stripped away the Human's remaining garments en route, before positioning his naked charge face down on the rug.

The thick fur of the skins tickled in all the wrong places. Chekov clutched two fistfuls of it and concentrated on staying still as Kahrag put a bottle of scented oil by the fire to warm. There was no doubt whatsoever now as to what the Klingon had in mind. It was going to be....

Chekov, finding himself on the verge of a lie, stopped. It wasn't going to be horrible. Even in wild moods like this one, Kahrag prided himself on his restraint and his skill as a lover. What the gunner had planned was probably going to be wonderfully satisfying and Chekov was probably going to enjoy it to an embarrassing degree. The lieutenant sighed inwardly. What was the use in resisting? He'd already fought and lost this battle so many times -- who would know the difference now if he just gave in? What was the point of being filled with tension and dread for something that was almost always very pleasant? Of course, he considered, being tense did mean that he would get...

Chekov bit back an ecstatic groan as the gunner spread warm, spice-scented oil across his back. The lieutenant was becoming addicted to Kahrag's massages. The Klingon seemed to become more expert each day at working the cold and stiffness from his captive's bones.

"Deceptive brat," Kahrag growled delightedly when the navigator failed to suppress an audible sigh of appreciation. "You're more spoiled than your damned pippet."

Chekov yelped when the Klingon playfully sank his teeth into one of the navigator's bare thighs. "Ow! Stop! That hurts," he protested, almost failing to notice an unexpected ripping noise from the vicinity of the bed.

A blur of purple dove at the gunner's head. Kahrag roared and flailed his arms at the screeching primate as it tore into his face with its vicious little fingers and teeth.

"No! No! No, Mxy!" Chekov tried to grab the pippet as it wheeled and dove again. He succeeded in getting a grip on one foot and jerking it back in time to avoid a potentially deadly swat from the gunner. "No!" he ordered as the slippery creature escaped him. "Go to your basket! Go to your basket! Now! Now! Now!"

As the Klingon rose into a snarling crouch, the little pippet saw that the tide of the battle was about to turn against him and opted to seek the better part of valor under the bed.

"I'll kill it!" Kahrag vowed, wiping blood from his scored forehead and cheek. "I'll wring its flea-bitten neck!"

"No! No!" Chekov grabbed onto the gunner's ankles. "It didn't mean to hurt you."

"Well, I mean to hurt it," Kahrag replied murderously as he tried to shake free of his captive.

The navigator clung on for dear life. "It was only protecting me."

The Klingon turned on him. "So you *trained* it to attack me?"

"No, no! It thought you were hurting me," Chekov explained, still taking the opportunity to firm up his grip. "I was yelling. It thought I was hurt."

The truth seemed to annoy Kahrag as he looked furiously back and forth between the pippet cowering under his bed and the bedwarmer wrapped around his feet.

"You can call Geshas," Chekov suggested, trying to capitalize on the temporary respite. "Mxy can stay there tonight."

"I'd rather kill the little pest now," Kahrag said, trying to wade towards the bed.

"Isn't there something else you'd like to do?" the lieutenant asked desperately. "With me?"

This stopped the Klingon cold. He looked down back and forth between the hissing, spitting, and incredibly expensive pippet peeking out at him from under his bed and the flushed, gasping, and incredibly sexy concubine holding onto his calves.

"I'll call," he relented at last, then added sternly, "*this* time."

With his goal achieved, the Russian suddenly became aware of the rather demeaning position he'd put himself in. He hastily released the gunner and reached for the oversized sweater. Pulling it on, he reached out a hand for his terrified pippet. "Come out, Mxy," he said soothingly in Klingonese. "It's all right now."

Kahrag paused by the comm unit to watch as the little primate cautiously scurried out from under the bed and up the Human's arm. The pretty picture of the two of them comforting each other made the gunner glad he'd been prevented from doing something rash. Instead of expressing this, he said, "I had no idea you'd become so fond of that irritating parasite."

Chekov himself was surprised at how quickly and unbegrudingly he'd offered sex as an alternative to mayhem. Furthermore, the navigator did not now regret doing so or have any trepidation about the imminent prospect of making good on his offer. Rather than saying any of this, he replied, "Neither had I."

Karhag grunted his assent and commed Geshas, who said he'd be there in a moment.

Chekov took the time to put on some pants and pack up Mxy's toys. The pippet was still shaken by his close encounter with Kahrag and didn't want to leave his master. Between the two of them, Chekov and Geshas managed to calm him enough for Geshas to take the pippet home without a struggle. Geshas smiled encouragingly at Chekov as he left. It didn't take a mind reader to deduce what had happened that evening.

Kahrag had gone into the bathroom to staunch his wounds while Chekov consigned Mxy to Geshas for the evening. Hearing the backdoor close, he came out to find his concubine musing in the middle of the big room. "Is it gone?" he growled.

"Oh, yes," Chekov assented, "you're safe now."

Kahrag snorted his opinion of this observation and folded his arms across his chest. "Well?"

Chekov nodded; he'd made a bargain after all. He slipped out of his clothes and sat on the fur rug. Keeping his eyes down, he motioned Kahrag to join him.

Curious, the Klingon sat cross-legged beside his lover but didn't touch him. He was admiring the way the firelight reflected on the soft brown hair and made the Human skin glow coral.

'A bargain is a bargain,' Chekov thought stoically and reached to unclasp Kahrag's vest.

Surprised, the Klingon allowed his captive to remove his vest and tunic. The Human seemed to hesitate at the wide, heavy belt but soon had it undone. He moved onto opening Kahrag's pants and was easing out the Klingon's rapidly expanding erection. Chekov still hadn't made any eye contact and Kahrag was loath to break the spell. Besides, this was reminding Kahrag of an old tale about the Quiet Warrior and the Shy Virgin and he was totally turned on by the time Chekov was stroking him. He reached for the warm oil and dribbled a little on his cock. Reveling in the sensation of his concubine spreading the oil the length of him, he reached for Chekov and drew him onto his lap. "Don't stop," he murmured, putting a little oil on his own fingers.

Chekov obediently continued his caresses but jumped a little when Kahrag's oily fingers began to probe him. He rested his forehead on the Klingon's wide collar bone and put more oil on his erection.

Satisfied that he was ready, Kahrag put some oil on Chekov's cock and stroked him a little higher. He urged Chekov on top of him and positioned the Human over the head of his cock. The Klingon moved his hands in caressing circles over Chekov's back and shoulders while the Human made his decision about when to slide down his cock. Kahrag was not only patient, he had unlimited faith in Chekov's commitment to his word.

Chekov thought of Mxy with a broken neck and that image somehow gave him impetus to let Kahrag's cockhead slip inside. He paused to adjust and relax a little. This position was psychologically difficult for him; there was no way to do it other than willingly and the willingness was hard to manufacture with Kahrag. But he did, and soon had descended the full length of the Klingon's shaft. He could feel the rough fabric of Kahrag's uniform under his ass and began to undulate away from it.

Kahrag was wholly enchanted with his shy but willing concubine that evening. He gazed with aroused rapture at the downcast eyes, their long lashes brushing the pale cheeks, the sweet lips softly parted in pleasure that would not be denied. The Klingon chose not to disrupt the moment with a kiss; there would be years of kissing and this moment was perfect just as it was.

Noting that the Human was beginning to shake with pleasure, Kahrag stilled him and held him in a comforting embrace. "Not yet, my Human, not yet," he murmured.

Chekov twisted against Kahrag's lap a little and then surrendered. He wasnít ready anyway so he just lay against the Klingon's chest until his breathing was more normal. He even let Kahrag tilt his chin up for a kiss and began to move again at the Klingon's wordless urging. 'All for you, Mxy,' Chekov told himself, as he increased his pace in the Klingon's lap.

Kahrag stopped him once more but only to reposition them so Chekov was on his back and began to fuck him.

Chekov merely lay beneath him, his hands on the Klingon's broad shoulders and let himself enjoy it. He arched against Kahrag with each stroke on his prostate and came at the same time. His sigh of ecstasy was lost in the Klingon's shout of joy.

Laying panting on his lover, Kahrag considered that he should threaten Chekov's pet more often but quickly dismissed it as a dishonorable idea. Retaliation for an unprovoked attack was one thing but terrorism was out of the question.

***

Kahrag arrived one evening a few days later burdened down with a stack of packages.

"What is all this?" Chekov asked, moving quickly to catch a small box in danger of tumbling to the floor.

"I've received a promotion," the gunner said, piling several more boxes into his charge's arms.

"Congratulations," the lieutenant said as he was weighed down with package after heavy package. "But what are these?"

"Presents." Kahrag tossed the smallest box to Mxy. "I even bought something for your little parasite."

The pippet, who seemed as surprised as Chekov at this generosity, almost let the gift drop to the floor before he caught it.

"This isn't necessary," the navigator protested, guiltily thinking of the potential expense.

"You haven't even opened them, yet," the gunner said, removing his outer coat and weapons.

Chekov sat his packages down on a nearby chair. He glanced at Mxy, who was examining his still-wrapped present as carefully as one would a time bomb. Knowing the pippet's caution would be short-lived, the lieutenant turned to the stack of boxes before him. Lifting the lid of the top one, he found it contained a heavy overcoat trimmed lavishly in fur.

Kahrag grinned. "What do you think?"

"It looks very nice," Chekov said, lifting the garment out by the shoulders. "And very warm... and *very* expensive."

"Why should you care what things cost?" the Klingon asked, taking the coat from him to hold it out for him to try on.

"You shouldn't spend so much money on me."

"I know," Kahrag replied, coming around to fasten the protective woolen collar around his charge's throat. "I have cursed myself each day for so depleting my savings just to bring that damned winged nuisance into my house."

Mxy was too enchanted by his new toy to notice this slight. Kahrag had bought him a stuffed facsimile of a rodent that was a favorite prey of wild pippets. There was a tiny bell inside the body that tinkled as Mxy tossed the toy in the air then caught it between his teeth.

"However," the gunner continued, testing the fit of the coat on his captive's arms, "I have been granted a raise in pay and have received a bonus that will amply replenish my resources."

Chekov frowned, his suspicions aroused by the fact that this financial windfall should come so soon after he'd discussed the price of pippets with Kboexi.

Kahrag stroked his captive's face fondly. "I'm touched that you worry so about me, my prize," he said, kissing the lieutenant's forehead.

"If you have no money, I have no food," the Russian explained unsentimentally. "We might be able to live in a tent as you did as a boy, but I couldn't eat kzee."

"Your loss," the Klingon said, turning to draw a fur hat and pair of fur trimmed gloves from the box. "Roast kzee is the best tasting meat there is -- especially when you kill it with your own hands and prepare it with my grandfather's wild herb sauce."

As Kahrag put the hat on him, Chekov reflected that this was a very different spin than the gunner had put on this story at Kboexi's picnic. "How could you and your grandfather live in a tent during the winter? Didn't it snow that year?"

"That year it snowed as if world was turning to ice," Kahrag replied, shuddering dramatically. "However, by that time, my grandfather and I... and our relatives, and our neighbors, and his comrades from his old garrison had built us a fine little house with a larder full of game. He might have been too proud to take their money, but he wasn't a fool."

"You didn't say any of this at Vixharth's estate," Chekov accused.

Kahrag snorted. "Let the rich bastard think we suffered. Maybe the next time the likes of he or his sister plan a war, they'll think to conduct more carefully."

Despite his fondness for Kboexi and Kmit, Chekov was Marxist enough to smile at the gunner's subversion.

"There," Kahrag said, stepping back to examine his charge in his new finery. "How does that feel?"

The lieutenant held his arms out and took a few steps. "I feel like a Klingon," he replied, lumbering forward mimicking the characteristic movement of the native population in their winter gear.

"Here," Kahrag said, handing him a smaller box. "Open this."

Feeling like a spoiled only child at Christmas, Chekov sighed and lifted the lid. Inside was a pair of double-bladed skates. "Oh," he said as if he'd never seen such a thing. "What do you call these?"

"Cisha," the gunner said, taking one boot out by its laces. The skate looked childish in his hand. "We use them for a vigorous, but somewhat perilous activity we call skating. It is difficult to learn, but I will teach you."

The lieutenant bit down on the corners of his mouth to suppress a smile. "Oh, really?"

"God's balls!" Kahrag burst forth upon realizing that he had once more stumbled upon a winter occupation in which his captive was probably more expert than he. "Were you born on the snow?"

"Oh, yes," Chekov said seriously, removing the overly warm cap and gloves. "I arrived during the year the Volga stayed frozen over for an entire year. And unfortunately since my family was victim of a socio-economic injustice, my parents were living in an abandoned hovercraft on its banks. I had to skate to school every morning and ski back every afternoon in time to go with my father and mother to search for frozen refuse for us to eat among the..."

"Insufferable Human!" Kahrag half-growled, half-laughed, taking his captive into his arms and kissing him into silence for so long that the pippet began to wonder how they could still breathe.

***

"Mxy! No!"

As usual, Chekov's command came too late to prevent the sharp-earred pippet from throwing itself in the face of whoever was opening the door to Kahrag's dwelling. Fortunately this time, the entrant was Kboexi instead of the gunner. "It's all right," The Vixharth said as the little winged primate excitedly searched his coat pockets for the candied nuts from the pippet's home jungle.

"Mxy!" the lieutenant scolded, holding out his arm and snapping for the pippet to come perch there. "It's not all right when he does it to Kahrag."

"I should think not," Kboexi agreed, removing his coat. "A creature as smart as you are, Mxy, should display more judgment."

"Good judgment isn't his strong suit," Chekov said, stroking the pouting pippet's head.

"Let's test that," Kboexi replied, holding out his two fists towards the little primate. "Choose which hand has the nuts, Mxy."

After glancing at his owner for permission, the pippet flew to the Klingon's right hand. He chattered delightedly as he pried back the Vixharth's fingers to uncover his favorite treat.

"Good boy!" Kboexi praised in Klingonese.

"Show him your new toy," Chekov commanded, pointing at Mxy's basket.

The pippet's eyes lit up at this suggestion as if he were grateful for the reminder. The creature immediately flew to his basket and retrieved the now thoroughly subdued stuffed rodent. Mxy displayed it proudly to the Vixharth, even demonstrating how to make the little bell inside ring.

"Charming," Kboexi said as the pippet generously offered the toy to him, "but, no thank you. I'd rather not put that in my mouth."

Chekov pointed to Mxy's basket. "Now, go play."

The pippet squeaked discontentedly, but obeyed.

Kboexi laughed. "How often I've wished I could speak and understand the language of pippets."

"With Federation translation technology, that might be possible," the lieutenant said, rising to get his guest some tea.

"You believe that their gibberish is actually a language?" the Vixharth asked, settling into a chair near the fireplace.

Chekov poured two cups. "They do seem to understand the principles of communication. By Federation standards, a pippet is far too intelligent a creature to be kept as a pet."

Kboexi shrugged. "We Klingons don't make such distinctions."

"Yes," the navigator replied bitter irony as he offered his guest a cup. "That, I know."

The Vixharth had nothing to say in reply. Instead he sipped his drink. "Ah, a gihya blend," he said. "Very smooth."

"Yes," Chekov said pointedly as he took a seat opposite his tutor. "It's something new that Kahrag purchased for me. It's one of the *many* new things we have."

Kboexi looked around as if noticing any change for the first time despite the new rug under his feet and Chekov's new winter clothes. "Oh?" he said politely. "Well, how nice."

This nonchalance all but confirmed the navigator's suspicions. However, his attention was momentarily diverted when he caught sight his pippet stealthily going though the pockets of the Vixharth's abandoned coat. "Mxy!" he scolded, dipping his fingers into a bowl of water he kept under his chair for just such purposes and directing a handful of droplets towards the mischievous pippet.

"Oh, that's clever," Kboexi said, nodding at the bowl, as Mxy contritely scampered back to his basket. "They hate having water splashed on them."

"It's how my mother trained her cats," Chekov explained. "I remembered the technique when Mxy began to display his unfortunate penchant for arson."

The pippet rolled his eyes mournfully at his master from his basket, as if hoping to make up for in sheer cuteness any inconvenience he caused.

"He's very devoted to you," Kboexi observed.

"Kahrag got a pay raise, a promotion, and a bonus," the lieutenant said, bluntly changing the subject. "Did you have anything to do with that?"

The Vixharth made a noncommittal gesture and sipped his tea. "I'm not in the sub-commander's chain of command... Or should I say commander now?"

"That isn't what I asked," the navigator replied inflexibly.

Kboexi gave an extended sigh as if having to answer such charges was a terrible strain. "Kahrag is an impressive individual. I have had opportunity to observe his decisiveness and ability to keep a cool head under pressure. I *may* have mentioned these things to his superiors in passing..."

"May have mentioned...?" Chekov raised an eyebrow. "And that was enough for a promotion?"

Kboexi made a gesture as if to indicate that the inner workings of the Klingon High Command were a complete mystery to him. "Who knows?"

"But he hates you," the lieutenant felt compelled to point out.

The Vixharth smiled. "I wasn't doing it for him."

***

Chekov woke up curled against the Klingon with his head resting on Kahrag's broad chest. He'd even put his arm around the gunner's neck. Embarrassed, the lieutenant immediately moved... or tried to.

"Stay as you are," Kahrag ordered, restraining him. "I find it quite pleasant."

Chekov gave a long, exasperated sigh, knowing this was his only viable avenue of protest.

"Shh," Kahrag hushed, putting a finger over his lips. "It's too early and too cold for your obstinacy."

"I could build up the fire," the lieutenant offered.

"I prefer you warm me like this." The gunner hugged his captive closer, reaching out with his free hand to play with a strand of the Human's hair. "Why must you always be so quarrelsome? Am I not good to you?"

Chekov opened his eyes wide at this question. "You abducted me-- twice," he reminded his captor. "You continue to hold me against my will. You have humiliated and even beaten me upon numerous occasions...."

"Punishments," the Klingon objected, "that you fully earned by willful disobedience after you had been warned of the consequences. For a captive less headstrong and intransigent, a single thrashing or the mere threat of discipline would have been sufficient."

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at this rhetoric. "Uncivilized," he pronounced.

"I am strict with you --- for your own protection," Kahrag rebutted, "but never cruel."

"It is cruel to keep me from the ones I love," the navigator rebutted.

"Truly?" The Klingon asked, his hand wandering down to his captive's hip. "Can any of those 'loved ones' do this for you?"

Chekov chose not to reply as the gunner's fingertip traced a series of small teasing circles in a path towards the lieutenant's rapidly hardening erection.

"Or this?" Kahrag asked, tenderly nibbling at key spots on the navigator's throat.

The Russian pressed his lips down on a moan but couldn't keep his body from arching towards his captor.

"Or this?" the gunner queried before claiming his charge's lips in a ravenous kiss that made the navigator ache with anticipation.

"Or this?" Kahrag asked, sliding his eager captive beneath him and reaching for the lubricant.

Chekov didn't concede anything, but did assist in preparing the Klingon when his hands were put in a position to do so. When all was in readiness, Kahrag moved his concubine's arms and legs to comfortably wrap around him.

"Or this?" the Klingon breathed into his captive's ear as he entered him.

'No,' Chekov admitted silently while he held onto the big gunner's shoulders and privately allowed himself to enjoy as much as he was being enjoyed.

***

"If you try to run away or touch any of the weapons without my expressed permission," Kahrag warned, "I'll find you and paddle you to within an inch of your obstinate life. After that, I'll tie a length of rope around your neck and lead you around the rest of the trip like a grhilet being taken to market. Do you understand?"

Chekov rolled his eyes instead of replying. A grhilet was a sheep-like domesticated animal held in high contempt by most Klingons because of its passivity. The lieutenant gritted his teeth as he turned back to receive another pack of supplies from Krossoro, who was helping unload the sled that had been pulled by the brigas. Kahrag's infantilization of the navigator was made all the more galling by the fact it was taking place in front of the interrogator and Krat, a near to total stranger.

Krat was either a friend or relative -- it was hard to tell since everyone Chekov had met since their arrival in the North country seemed to call each other "cousin". Krat was shorter, fatter and seemed to be somewhat older than Kahrag or Krossoro. He owned the remote hunting lodge in the hills where the four of them had just arrived and would be staying for the next few days.

Kahrag's hand landed in the middle of Chekov's back. Taking a fistful of coat, he pulled his recalcitrant captive towards him. "I asked if you understood."

"Yes," the lieutenant replied without turning around. "I understood."

When he tried to take a step back towards Krossoro, the navigator found himself pulled back once more.

"So I have your word you will not attempt anything foolish?" Kahrag asked as Krat brushed by to take the sack Krossoro was holding out.

Chekov crossed his arms. "As I have said before, I will not attempt to escape..." When the gunner released him, the Russian stepped forward to receive another pack before continuing, "...until I have a chance of succeeding."

As Kahrag's hands landed on his shoulders, Chekov watched the interrogator wipe what might have been the beginnings of a smile from his lips with his thumb.

"Look about you," the gunner commanded, turning him to facilitate. The countryside was bleak. Dense black forest covered with a thick blanket of snow surrounded them. "The nearest population center is a half day's walk."

Calling the primitive village where they'd stopped to pick up their four brigas and the sled a "population center" was overly generous in the lieutenant's opinion.

"Although you probably couldn't find it before you froze in this weather," Kahrag continued. "The aircar that brought us there is long gone. And I doubt if you'd find another."

From the looks of the village, Chekov doubted he'd even be able to find indoor plumbing.

"I was raised in these mountains," the gunner informed his charge. "I know every rock and tree. I can track you down like a blind, three-legged targ -- no matter where you find to hide. Do you believe me?

The lieutenant scowled at the falling snow. "You've made your point."

"And how do you rate your chances for escape?"

"Exceedingly low," the navigator admitted.

"Kahrag!" Krat yelled from the doorway in the Northern dialect, "Are you here to hunt or fuck with your Human?"

"Calm yourself, cousin," the gunner replied, picking out a sack for his captive and a larger one for himself.

Krossoro waited until the two of them had moved out of earshot to explain to Krat, "It's just that his Human requires a good amount of fucking with on occasion."

Kahrag was showing his charge the cabin's rudimentary kitchen. "There's no running water," he explained, pointing at four tall stacks of wooden buckets. More of them were scattered throughout the dwelling. "You'll have to fill those full of snow and melt them by the fire. See the hooks?"

The cabin's large square main room was dominated by a huge central fireplace that opened on all four sides. Beds were built into alcoves in the wall so the occupants could stay near the heat. Even the loft upstairs opened its middle for greater access to the warmth generated below.

"Make sure you keep the privy well stocked with water," Kahrag warned retrieving a couple of leftover buckets from their hooks above the hearth and dumping the brackish water in them down the sink, "or we'll all suffer. Make up two beds down here and one upstairs. "

Chekov frowned. "And what are you going to be doing?"

"This afternoon we have to ride out and scout our hunting ground." The gunner took some scrub brushes and a broom out of a cabinet. "If you behave, you can come with us when we hunt tomorrow, but today you need to clean the lodge so it will be fit for us all to live in."

"Is that why you brought me here? To be your housekeeper?"

Kahrag grinned and kissed the lieutenant on the top of the head. "No," he said, crossing to the fire with a cord of firewood. "The bed in the loft is for the two of us, so pick out a large one with a good mattress."

Chekov put his hands on his hips and gazed at the task before him. The cabin floor was strewn with broken bottles, discarded cutlery, and bones. "It looks as though you didn't clean up before you left last time."

The gunner shrugged. "We may not have."

"Why not?"

"We were probably too drunk to," Krossoro answered, helping Krat carry in a huge crate of llarth.

"Will someone speak a language I can fucking understand?" Krat requested in dialect. The previous conversation had been in Standard.

"Here's the only language I know you understand, uncle," the interrogator replied in the same tongue, handing Krat a full bottle after they'd set down the crate.

"You know me well," the older man said, pulling out the cork with his teeth and spitting it on the floor. "Now what the fuck is that Human whining about?"

"He's somewhat dismayed at the prospect of having to clean up your leavings, cousin," Kahrag replied, stacking the wood in a bin.

Krat gave Chekov a critical once over as he picked at his teeth and spit more cork onto the floor. "Then beat his lazy ass and tell him to get on with it," he advised, taking a good swig of llarth.

Kahrag straightened. "Are you trying to tell me how to treat my property, old man?"

Krat didn't flinch. "If you seem in doubt. I didn't come here to listen to the mewlings of a spoiled concubine for four days."

The gunner snorted. He turned and tossed a hearth broom to Chekov. "Start cleaning this out and build a fire."

The lieutenant, not knowing his tractability was the topic of the Northerners' conversation, obeyed with dispatch. It was very cold in the cabin. Besides, building fires was one of the navigator's few duties that he actually enjoyed.

Kahrag smirked triumphantly at his countryman as he headed out for more firewood. "We'll be lucky if your hunting brigas prove half as well trained."

Krat watched in surprise as the Human tossed aside his fine furs, rolled up his sleeves and plunged into the layers of soot and ashes, displaying none of the finickiness that had characterized his behavior on the trip up.

"Does Kahrag truly have the creature so docile?" he asked Krossoro.

The interrogator gave a half laugh as he put aside the bottle he'd picked out for himself. "No," he answered, heading for the door. "He's a wilful little demon."

Krat paused to watch Kahrag's concubine bend down to pick a shard of glass from the debris. "Good," he said, licking his lips.

***

Chekov paused in the midst of filling what seemed like his thousandth bucket of snow. From a clearing just beyond the lodge came a familiar sound. The lieutenant stood very still. For a moment, he could hear nothing other than the shimmering impact of falling snow on brittle leaves. Then the sound came again -- more distinct this time.

The lieutenant pursed his lips and made the sharp clicking noise the Klingons used to call their briga. In response, a lone mount ambled forward from between the trees just far enough to see who was trying to call him before returning to his grazing. Further clicking from the Human did nothing more to persuade the briga to take his summons seriously.

"What are you doing here?" Chekov pondered aloud, looking back at the still firmly latched barn door. The Klingons had taken the extra briga with them to serve as a pack animal. Perhaps it had gotten loose.

The lieutenant looked down at his soft boots. They weren't really designed for tramping around in the snow. Chekov's heavy boots -- as well as his snowshoes, his skis, all the knives in the house and several other items Kahrag had felt might give his charge "foolish ideas" in his absence -- were locked inside the barn. The Russian sighed and slogged his way to the clearing.

The briga was disinterested, but not hostile. As Chekov came closer, he was surprised to find it was saddled. "Maybe one of them fell," the lieutenant reasoned, reaching for the dangling reigns. He wondered if the rider had been hurt. He even briefly wondered if the hurt rider was Kahrag, but sternly disallowed himself from experiencing any emotion about that possibility.

Patting the animal to pacify it, Chekov put a foot in the stirrups and swung himself up into the saddle. At first, he'd only thought to ride the briga back to the house, but once atop the animal, it occurred to the lieutenant that he might now have a wider choice of destinations. He couldn't get very far walking, but riding....

Kahrag would track him down. But what if Kahrag was now occupied with tending to a wounded companion... or was injured himself? Chekov sat astride the briga and contemplated the gray countryside. Where to go...?

"Going somewhere, Human?" Krat stepped out from behind a stand of trees, grinning. He held a long hunting spear casually in one hand.

Chekov released a long breath. "No. Not now."

"Trying to run away from the gunner, are you?" the old man said, speaking Klingonese with his thick Northern accent. "What do you think Kahrag will have to say about that?"

"He won't be pleased," the lieutenant predicted, dismounting.

Krat shook his head sympathetically as he came forward. "You'll probably get a good beating, won't you?"

The lieutenant decided this was not worth confirming as he held the reigns out for the Klingon.

Krat grinned jaggedly and grabbed the Human's hand. "Maybe I don't tell him, hey?"

Chekov automatically tried to pull free, but found himself held tight. "What?"

"Maybe I'll stay quiet about this," the old Klingon offered with a leer. "I might be willing to forego the pleasure of watching you take a beating if you'll do something for me.... Maybe if you're willing to give me a little kiss... or a little more..."

The lieutenant let his hand go limp, then pulled it free in a single jerk, leaving his glove behind... and unfortunately toppling him backwards onto the snow.

"You don't like my bargain, Human?" Krat said, towering over him.

"No," the navigator retorted sharply.

"Not better than a beating?"

"I'm not afraid of Kahrag," Chekov replied defiantly, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Krat placed the butt of his spear against the Human's chest. "You afraid of me?"

The lieutenant looked at the spear and did not answer.

"I've killed Humans, you know," the old warrior informed him. "Many Humans."

"And I've killed Klingons," the navigator countered, forcing his voice to remain even.

"With your bare hands?" Krat asked, pressing the spear against him uncomfortably.

"Obviously not," Chekov conceded. "Do you think Kahrag would be alive otherwise?"

This seemed to amuse the old Klingon. He began to grin and then laugh as he lifted his spear and offered the lieutenant a hand up.

Chekov was puzzled by the old man's sense of humor, but relieved by this apparently benign mood shift. The navigator was even more relieved to see Krossoro, Kahrag and their mounts appear at the far edge of the clearing.

"Ho! Gunner!" Krat hallooed. He slapped Chekov amiably on the back. "You've got a real prize here!"

***

"What business did you have so far from the cabin?" Kahrag had waited until after dinner to question his captive. The two of them were in the kitchen cleaning the last of the dishes from their dinner.

Chekov glanced back pointedly at Krat who was entertaining Krossoro with a long narrative in their native tongue. "I was lured."

"Oh." Kahrag looked back. "I see."

The lieutenant wasn't sure what to make of this non-reaction. The gunner was in a very good mood. He, Krat, and Krossoro had speared three rabbit-sized dgoo and a big deer-like bhreza while out tracking targ. Therefore they arrived at the cabin very pleased with themselves. The pristine state of their lodgings and the satisfactory amount of water in the reservoirs for the sinks and toilets only elevated their mood. The superior flavor of the dgoo when roasted over the roaring fire they found Chekov had built for them and the chill on the store of llarth the lieutenant had made readily available on ice had them all in a state of near bliss. "Well," Kahrag said at last, dipping a greasy platter into the soapy water, "the old man's an avid hunter, but he's no poacher."

"What do you mean?"

"He knows what's mine. He may tease and test you, but unless you seem willing to play the wanton, he'll leave you alone."

"And if he doesn't?"

Kahrag took in a deep thoughtful breath. "Krat is Krossoro's mother's brother and is an old and wily warrior."

"So?"

"So," the gunner replied soberly, "if I have to cut his dick off, it shouldn't take him too long to figure out another way to urinate."

Kahrag's brutal overprotectiveness stuck Chekov as oddly touching. "If such a thing were necessary," he said, nonetheless, "I would prefer to do it myself."

"That wouldn't be proper." After handing him the last dish, Kahrag lifted the lieutenant's bangs off his forehead with a damp hand and gave him a light kiss. "But should it happen, I promise to let you watch. Now it's time for you to go to bed. Go upstairs, undress and wait for me."

Chekov glanced at the two laughing Klingons by the fire and hesitated.

The gunner took the dish from his hand and dried it. "What troubles you? They won't disturb us."

"But..." The navigator could feel a deep blush starting in his cheeks. "They'll be able to hear..."

"That matters little," Kahrag said, stacking the plate with the others.

"To you," his captive retorted.

The gunner turned and examined the Human as if genuinely surprised by his shyness. "They know you are mine," he said laying a reassuring hand on his concubine's shoulder, "and that you are required to submit to me in this as in all things."

Chekov hung his head, less than comforted by this assurance.

"And yet submitting still touches your pride." Kahrag ran a tender finger down his captive's flaming cheek. "When will you learn to content yourself to your lot?"

"Never," he then answered in unison with his captive.

"Very well, little warrior," the gunner said, giving him another kiss. "I will not shame you when you've done nothing to merit it. Go to bed."

The lieutenant blinked at him disbelievingly.

"Now," Kahrag prompted, turning him towards the stairs and sending him forward with a swat.

Deciding that this was much better treatment than he'd been expecting, the navigator obeyed without pausing to point out that being swatted in front of Kahrag's cronies wasn't exactly dignity-enhancing. Fortunately Krat and Krossoro were too far into their cups to notice as the lieutenant hurried past them and up the ladder to the loft.

Despite the roaring fire below, the blankets on the bed were damp and chilly. Chekov left on his long thermal underwear and curled under them shivering. It put him in mind of the times he'd slept in the poorly insulated upper floors of his grandparent's old house in the country. He absently kicked his feet back and forth to warm the sheets as he reviewed the events of the day. What had prompted Krat to accost him? Would he do it again? Would Kahrag make good on his barbaric promise if he did so? Where would Krossoro's loyalties lie in a fight between the two?

Despite the nagging nature of these unresolved issues, the lieutenant had begun to drift off when he finally heard Kahrag's heavy tread on the stepladder. The navigator lay very still as the Klingon undressed and crawled into his side of the bed.

"God's balls," the gunner swore quietly, "it's as cold as deep space up here." He reached out and put an hand on his captive. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," Chekov felt obligated to answer in return for this concern.

"Would you share some with me?"

When lieutenant made a noncommittal noise of acquiescence, the Klingon curled up against his back, putting his big arms around the Human.

"Ah, that's better."

"What about your friends?" Chekov asked, noting that the sensation of the gunner's bare flesh against him was immediately having its usual effect.

"Asleep or passed out." Kahrag's hips thrust gently against him as the Klingon stretched out trying to find a comfortable spot.

"Will they be fit to hunt tomorrow?"

"The weather signs were poor," the gunner replied, pulling him close and nibbling at his throat. "I'm not planning on a early start. It's a pity that I did not think of setting a bottle of oil by the fire. A warm massage would be welcome now."

"You'd get oil on the sheets," Chekov said instead of agreeing. His breath caught in his throat as his captor's hands ran down the front of his body. "I suppose you'd like for me to undress," he said, knowing any pretense at disinterest was futile now.

Kahrag kissed the back of his neck. "Very much so."

The gunner helped him undo the fastenings down the front of his undergarment, but the Klingon's hands remained at his hips while the lieutenant shouldered out of the top.

"Here," he said, pulling his captive up to sitting when he was naked at last. "I know of something we can do to get ourselves warm."

Taking each of his captive's hands in one of his, he placed a set of intertwined fingers on each of their erections and set them to gently pumping. Their lips brushed together hungrily and they stroked each other. Chekov had to admit that it was a perfectly wonderful sensation -- simultaneously caressing and being caressed by a hand that was and was not his own.

Kahrag paused after a moment to retrieve some lubricant he'd stowed under the bed. The lieutenant bit his lip as the deliciously cool goo dribbled down his hot member. Their kisses became deeper and more demanding as their unified strokes built up speed and urgency.

"What do you want me to do?" Chekov rasped when he was finally given an opportunity to breathe.

"What do you want to do?" the gunner countered.

Suddenly hit with the choice, the navigator could not decide which of his conflicting impulses to indulge. He lowered his eyes.

"Ah." His captor stroked his cheek pityingly. "Will pride not let you answer?"

The lieutenant shook his head.

"It is lamentable that foolish pride should interfere so with your pleasure," Kahrag whispered taking his captive into his arms. "For both our sakes, I will now be forced to make what you Humans would call an 'educated guess.'"

Gently, he turned his concubine over onto his stomach and spread out his unresisting arms and legs. It would not be inaccurate to describe the sigh the Human emitted upon finally being entered as one of profound relief.

Downstairs, Krat ambled back from his prolonged trip to the case of llarth stowed by the door.

"Well, now I've seen everything," he said, dropping back down onto the couch he and Krossoro had pulled up to the fire.

"What?" the interrogator asked rousing.

"I've never heard a man go to the trouble of seducing his concubine before," the older man said, handing a bottle to his nephew.

"Kahrag likes a challenge," Krossoro replied, pulling out the cork and tossing it onto the fire. "He believes our old proverbs that say anything good is worth working for."

The two took long sips of the fiery liquor as the creaking above them crescendoed. At the climax of this activity, any noise the Human made was overshadowed by a distinctly Klingonese shout of prolonged ecstasy.

"Well," Krat said, propping his feet up on the grill surrounding the hearth. "That certainly sounded worth working for."

***

"Say it again," Kahrag begged the captive on his lap. "Please."

"Shit-brained sons of retarded whores," Chekov swore in Klingonese, reaching for another bottle.

The native speakers of that language shouted with laughter.

"You see?" the gunner said, wiping away mirthful tears. "It doesn't matter what words I teach him to say, it just sounds funny."

"You should stick to Standard, Earther," Krossoro advised. "Although you sound none too menacing in that either."

"Targ fuckers," the lieutenant muttered darkly, turning his head to spit his cork into the fire.

The Klingons laughed until their guts began to hurt.

The weather signs, as Kahrag had predicted, were deemed unfavorable for an early morning hunt -- even though the weather didn't seem any different to the navigator than it had been the day before. Closer to the truth was that Krat and Krossoro were too *under the weather* to go outside. They had opted instead to drink off their hangovers.

After breakfasting and skinning the bhreza they had speared the day before, Kahrag settled down to helping them in this endeavor while he supervised the roasting of the meat. He quickly got entangled in a seemingly never-ending debate about whether or not the targs they'd tracked were in rut. This segued periodically into discussion about the pros and cons of hunting rutting targs, but no consensus of any kind was ever reached-- save for their agreement that standing over a roasting spit was hot, hard work and Kahrag's little Human shouldn't be blamed for liberating an occasional bottle of llarth for himself as he fetched fresh rounds for them all.

It was now early evening. Bhreza bones were scattered liberally amongst the llarth bottles. The Klingons were so drunk that sitting on couches in front of the hearth was becoming taxing. There had been serious discussion of dragging mattresses down to lie on, but no one was sober enough to actually do so.

"More llarth, Human!" Krat bellowed.

"I can't." Chekov laid his head against Kahrag's shoulder. "I'm too intoxicated to walk so far."

"Then crawl!" the old man suggested.

The lieutenant pointed a warning finger at him. "I don't crawl, Klingon."

"For llarth," Krossoro intervened before they started growling at each other again, "I'll crawl."

They watched the interrogator carefully balance on his hands and knees as if critically accessing the launch of an experimental battlecruiser.

"He's not going to make it," Kahrag predicted, as his comrade began to wobble.

"I will, I will," Krossoro assured them as he slowly sank down onto his elbows. "I may have to take a little nap first...."

Chekov snorted contemptuously as the interrogator gradually melted onto the floor. "Some hunters."

"What?" Krat demanded.

"The Human doesn't think we're getting a lot of hunting done," Kahrag explained, confiscating his captive's bottle and draining it for him.

"Well, that depends, now doesn't it?" the old warrior replied belligerently.

"On what?" Chekov said, wondering why his hand was suddenly empty.

Krat squinted at him balefully from across the fireplace. "On what you think we were hunting."

The lieutenant blinked. "You're hunting targ."

"That's what you think, Human. Maybe we were just hunting a good place to drink. Right, Kahrag?"

"It is a good place to drink," the gunner agreed, absently patting his captive's thigh.

The navigator looked up at him. "You mean you never actually kill any targ?"

"There only five or six left in these woods," Kahrag explained.

"If we kill all of them, what's our excuse for coming back, eh, Human?" Krat demanded. "Betcha didn't think of that."

"No," Chekov said apologetically, "I didn't... So you don't actually hunt them?"

"Oh, we track them," Kahrag said, brushing his charge's hair from his eyes. "See what the numbers are like...."

"If they've gone into rut," Krat insisted for the thousandth time, "the numbers will be up this time next year."

"We usually kill something on the first day out," the gunner continued, after acknowledging this point with a weary wave of his finger. "But on the second day, we tend to drink. On the third day we tend to sleep...."

Krat began to snore loudly as if on cue.

"...And the fourth day, we pack up and go home," Kahrag finished.

Chekov shook his head as much as he was able to without getting dizzy. "I don't understand. What's the point?"

"We like to be here," the gunner answered simply. "Close to the land. Away from duties and responsibilities. With each other. Saying the same things we always say. It's just good. Don't Humans do such things because they think them good?"

"I suppose," Chekov conceded, thinking of the dozens of seemingly pointless camping trips he'd been on with Sulu.

"It pleases me to be here with you." Kahrag hugged his charge close. "I love you, my prize."

"I love you, too," the lieutenant replied without thinking.

The Klingon lifted the Human's face towards him with a finger and looked deep into the Russian's bleary eyes. "You wouldn't say that if you weren't drunk, would you?"

"No," Chekov agreed. "Never in a million years."

The gunner smiled. "Say it again for me. Say it again, please."

"Targ fucker," the lieutenant mumbled, wearily closing his eyes.

Kahrag sighed and kissed the top of his captive's head. "Close enough."

***

"So, did you even get a glimpse of targ?" Kboexi asked as he sipped tea with his pupil in Kahrag's quarters a week later.

"Oh, yes," Chekov answered, tossing one of Mxy's bhreza hide balls out of his chair. The pippet scolded as he returned the prize to his basket, making it clear that his beloved master was still not fully forgiven for abandoning him for so long. "We had to wait for the fourth day out for the weather to break." The lieutenant did not add 'and to recover from a truly epic hangover.' "Kahrag and I went cross-country skiing and spotted a rutting male pursuing a pair of females from a distance."

"Oh, well, I can see why they were hesitant to go after him," Kboexi replied. "A rutting targ is vicious and unpredictable. Most hunters aren't so foolhardy."

"And there's also a point of view that holds that in such a state the animal is judgement-impaired and unusually vulnerable," Chekov said, drawing Krat's favorite argument. "It's not sportsmanlike to take advantage of the animal's weakness."

The Vixharth lifted an eyebrow. "It sounds like you've become a true backwoodsman."

"Not quite," the lieutenant said, still fully appreciative of the comfort and convenience of living in a dwelling with running water.

"I'm glad you enjoyed your little visit to the North country."

The navigator shrugged. "It was a change of pace."

"Now that spring is on its way, you'll see plenty of change, my dear Lieutenant," Kboexi promised. "Lots of change... And very soon."

***

"Well," Krossorro drawled, crossing over to where his more than normally taciturn countryman was leaning against the fence surrounding the area set aside for ice skating. "Are you going to speak or turn to stone?"

Kahrag sighed heavily. "I received new orders," he informed his friend, keeping his eyes on the frozen over pond in front of him where Chekov was trying to teach Kboexi to skate backwards.

The interrogator nodded. "Good posting?"

"Better than I hoped for," Kahrag replied, nodding significantly at the Vixharth.

"But very distant," Krossoro predicted. "And in zone too dangerous to be accompanied by a Federation hostage."

The gunner nodded. "I petitioned for permission to take him, but was denied."

The interrogator raised an eyebrow. "An exceedingly rapid response from the ministry."

Kahrag nodded as Kboexi slipped and fell to the ice. "Exceedingly."

The two watched silently as the noble held out his arms to the Human for assistance. When Chekov came to his aid, however, the Vixharth mischievously pulled the Russian down into a laughing heap with him.

"Can I leave him with you?" Kahrag asked, nodding towards his charge.

Krossoro sighed.

The gunner glanced at his friend. "You've received your orders, too," he guessed.

The interrogator nodded. "A good posting -- though very distant and in a combat zone."

Kahrag put his head in his hands and rubbed his aching temples.

Krossoro was silent as he contemplated the only other logical choice to take charge of the Human.

"Damned rich whoreson of a greedy bastard," Kahrag swore quietly as Kboexi put his arm around the lieutenant for support. "He and his sister need a lesson in refraining from meddling in the affairs of others."

The interrogator drew in a long breath, knowing he was honor bound to assist in any plan Kahrag might conceive to revenge himself on these powerful nobles -- no matter how futile or suicidal.

"However..." the gunner continued after another moment of silence. "Perhaps it's better I am away from this Human."

"He works on you like a drug," Krossoro concurred. "Gives you ease, but saps your strength."

"Oh, shut up," Kahrag replied mildly. "You've never been in love with anything."

"Yes, praise the unfathomable mind of the Unknowable God," Krossoro agreed, making a superstitious sign to ward off being visited with such madness. The two watched as Kboexi fell once more. "I couldn't have kept him anyway," the interrogator said as Chekov skated to the Vixharth's side looking as if he didn't know he was just going to be pulled down again. "You know how my wife hates Humans. She would have tried to maim him and claim every day it was an accident."

"Had I left him with you," Kahrag said as Kboexi managed to get his captive down on the ice with him once more, "you would have sex with him, wouldn't you?"

Krossoro shrugged. "I'm not partial to boys... or Humans."

"But you would have taken him at least once," the gunner persisted as Chekov good-naturedly helped the Vixharth to his feet once more. "If just for curiosity's sake."

Krossoro watched as Kahrag's pretty little slut dusted snow from the noble's robe. "Perhaps once," he admitted. "For curiosity."

The gunner nodded as Chekov repeated his demonstration of proper skating technique for the twentieth time that hour. "It is well that he doesn't stay with you, then," he decided. "For such a thing might have come between us. Kboexi, however.... I've never had any love for him."

Krossoro nodded as he watched his friend's concubine skate away arm-in-arm with his friend's rival. "Too bad it's not the *lack* of love *you* have for him that's a problem."

***

"Come here." Kahrag patted his knee. "I wish to speak with you."

Chekov crossed his arms stubbornly, although he had been dying of curiosity to find out what the gunner had been brooding over for the past week. "You can speak to me while I'm standing up."

"Come here," Kahrag repeated unyieldingly.

The lieutenant glanced over at Mxy's basket, but the pippet had not yet been retrieved from Geshas that evening. Scowling, the navigator compromised by taking a seat on the arm of a nearby chair. "I don't like sitting with you like that," he explained firmly.

"Lying brat," Kahrag accused fondly as he reached out and pulled his Human into his lap. "You only resist because you know you like it too much."

Chekov decided that it would be best to respond as if he thought this was a preposterous assertion.

Kahrag took a moment to admire his captive's sweet, long-lashed eyes and stroke his soft, pale cheeks before speaking. "I have received a new posting -- to a fine battlecruiser."

His captive's face lit up the news. The gunner pessimistically assumed the Human's excitement was at the prospect of being free of him.

"I cannot take you with me," he informed the Human sadly.

The disappointment evident in his captive's features told the Klingon that his charge, like the true little warrior he was, had instead been thrilled by the notion of returning to space once more.

"I have made arrangements for you to stay with Kboexi," he continued.

This information also had a strong impact on his charge. Pinkness crept into the Human's cheeks as he looked away.

Kahrag ran a tender finger down his captive's strongly-marked jawline. "Will that please you, my prize?"

"I don't know." Chekov shook his head slowly. "I don't know what this means."

"It means you will belong to Kboexi. You will live with him in whatever capacity he wishes -- as guest, as slave..."

"Or concubine," the lieutenant finished for him. "That's what you think, isn't it? That he'll sleep with me."

"Not at first," Kahrag answered.

This prediction was so close to what Chekov himself had concluded that it made him angry. "And what if I refuse?" he asked coldly.

The Klingon smiled and tapped his precious captive's stubborn little nose. "You will," he replied, "at first."

This was also infuriatingly plausible.

"Take care," the gunner warned. "Kboexi is not a man who is used to being denied anything. You may see a more... Klingon side of him than he' s shown thus far."

"What are you saying?" Chekov demanded angrily. "That I should just give in so I won't be hurt?"

"No. You should protect yourself." Kahrag kissed his darling's forehead lightly. "But make the bastard beg."

***

The evening before his departure, Kahrag brought home two medium sized cases for Chekov to pack his things into. The gunner spent the first part of the evening watching his charge methodically fold his clothes and pack them in the tidy fashion of spacers, even retired ones, everywhere.

The Human was fishing under the bed for Mxy's missing toys when he found Kahrag standing beside him.

"I shall miss you, my prize," he murmured, reaching down for him. "You must give me something to remember you by tonight."

'Like a broken nose?' Chekov thought wryly as Kahrag kissed him deeply. Knowing it was useless to fight, the Human simply relaxed and let himself be kissed. And in much the same manner, allowed Kahrag to undress him and lay him across the big bed.

The gunner ran his hands over Chekov as if memorizing every inch of him. He lingered on the soft flesh of the Human's forearms and nape. The taste of his shoulders and chest. The Klingon rubbed his cheeks over the soft skin on the navigator's inner thighs which were draped over his shoulders. He buried his face in the soft brown pubic thatch before devouring Chekov's arching cock.

Chekov squirmed a little against the rough material of Kahrag's uniform under his thighs but he was securely pinned and could do nothing about it. He relaxed and let Kahrag have him; he knew it would be their last night together and Chekov had very mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he would be glad to be free of Kahrag but he was also nervous about his future residency in the Vixharth's home. In addition (pant), he did not know (arch) what would happen if (oh!) Kahrag were to (pant) die in space.

This morbid but practical train of thought ceased as Kahrag skillfully brought him off and sucked all the cum off him. The gunner spent a few minutes nibbling at Chekov's inner thigh before he rose and ordered his charge to run a tub for them.

Chekov rose on shaky legs and did as he was told. He was quickly joined by Kahrag, now as naked as he, and herded into the tub. The gunner poured some salts into the water and stepped in himself. He pulled Chekov close and kissed him passionately before reaching for a sponge.

Relaxing under the soapy sponge being applied to his back and shoulders, Chekov let his mind go blank so he wouldn't have to think about how much he was probably going to enjoy what was about to happen. He'd given up fighting his own reactions; he did not encourage Kahrag (the Klingon needed none) but he'd stopped wasting time worrying over whether it was right or wrong to enjoy sex with him - it simply was unavoidable and enjoyable. In much the same manner as Kahrag stroking him back to full hardness in the guise of washing his penis. Chekov squirmed a little as the Klingon's soapy finger brushed his anus and then slid slowly inside. The Human writhed against the broad chest as the Kahrag expertly, as usual, found his prostate and began to stroke it in a maddening rhythm.

Drawing Chekov astride his lap, Kahrag continued his internal massage with two, then three fingers. When he was sure the Human was stretched enough, he soaped his raging erection and positioned Chekov over his cockhead. He felt the Human tensed and then relax as he began his descent down the hard Klingon shaft. Kahrag let his head fall back and sighed in pure bliss as Chekov began to move in a rhythm that pleased them both.

Feeling very much like a whore, Chekov was unable to stop his gyrations on the Klingon's cock. He was too far gone to stop or even care how it might look. He simply closed his eyes and he slammed his body up and down in the Klingon's lap. He was enraged when Kahrag held him at the base of this cock. "Let. Me. Finish!" Chekov hissed murderously.

"Önot yetÖ" the Klingon could barely rasp out.

Unable to reach any of Kahrag's anatomy that might bring them both off, Chekov resorted to squeezing his muscles as hard as he could. This made the Klingon twitch a little but proved mainly ineffectual so the Russian gave it up.

At some mysterious inner signal, Kahrag released the lieutenant's hips and pulled him into a deep kiss. The kiss intensified as Chekov's bouncing brought them closer. Kahrag ran his hands over the Human's squeaky clean back and shoulders as he began to moan in earnest. He slammed Chekov down the full length of his penis and came with a strangled roar.

Feeling the Klingon's cock jerking inside him set Chekov off in a combination of ecstasy and voluptuous revulsion. He arched and thrashed against the Klingon's hands, but was held fast and could only fall whimpering onto the broad golden chest.

Kahrag allowed himself the luxury of blacking out for a moment and found the Human dozing on his chest when he returned to consciousness. The tub had cooled somewhat so he ran more hot water; a little hotter than usual in honor of his concubine. Pleased with his little darling, Kahrag wiggled his hips until his cock slipped out. This woke Chekov. "Iím sorry, I did not mean to disturb you, my prize," he murmured tenderly as Chekov climbed off him.

Making no answer, Chekov merely dragged himself to the other side of the tub. He was trying not to shudder too much in the aftershocks of his wild climax. He was too drained to fight when the Klingon lift his right foot and began to inspect it.

"I shall miss your little white feet," Kahrag observed, rubbing a liquid pumice into the ball and heel of Chekov's foot. Moving onto a thorough massage of the little white foot, he marveled at the fragile beauty of the silky skin stretched taut over the delicate frame of bone and muscle. "Your feet are works of art, my prize," he observed, caressing each toe reverently.

Chekov lay back and let the Klingon have his fun. It was useless to try to discourage Kahrag's obsession with his feet. Resisting only prolonged the worship and, well, it wasÖ delightful so he hid his enjoyment as best he could and let the Klingon get on with it. Kahrag had switched to the other foot so Chekov knew he was half way there at least.

Kahrag concluded his leisurely ministrations, activated the switch that emptied the tub and drew Chekov to standing. Quickly drying his charge, he sent him to bed with a gentle slap on the behind. The Klingon turned his attention to a major decision: scented oil or lotion for his Human's delicate skin. Grabbing a bottle of expensive lotion, he joined his charge on the bed. "Roll over," he ordered.

Chekov complied and dozed as the sweet smelling lotion was massaged into his skin.

"Don't go to sleep on me, Human," Kahrag growled tenderly, rolling him onto his back. "The night is young!" He gathered his very relaxed charge into his arms and kissed his neck and shoulders. "Humor me just a little longer, my sweet," the Klingon whispered.

Deciding it couldn't hurt to cooperate a little, Chekov stretched and roused himself.

Encouraged, Kahrag kissed him deeply. He reached between them to fondle Chekov's burgeoning erection. The Klingon sighed with pleasure as he dragged his lips back down to that most delectable flesh and caressed the rosy shaft with his lips and fingertips.

Chekov forced himself not to thrust into the Klingon's enflaming mouth, well almost. Kahrag caught his hips and thrust the full length of his cock down the Klingon's throat. Sighing in surrender, Chekov allowed himself to be swept up into his ravisher's familiar magic.

Sensing his charge's enjoyment, however reluctant, Kahrag spun out both their pleasure in a leisurely fashion. This gave him ample opportunity to slip more lube into his beloved. Deciding not to finish the Human off in his mouth, Kahrag sat up and pulled Chekov toward him. He rolled the Human forward and centered his cock. Feeling the usual resistance, he waited for his prize to surrender. The wait had gotten shorter and shorter over the past year so he was not long delayed. Gently pressing the head in, Kahrag bent to kiss his lover as a reward for his sweet and excellent behavior.

Chekov seemed more blase than he was as he simply clung to the Klingon's shoulders and allowed himself to be used. That he enjoyed it, well, what could he do? He certainly never encouraged the gunner. Well, only once and that was to save Mxy's lifeÖ sort of. 'None of this will matter after he leaves tomorrow,' Chekov thought, getting closer and arching into an orgasm that swept from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and back again.

Kahrag was swept away with him and lay panting on top of the Human. He gently withdrew, rolled onto his back and was asleep in seconds.

When he could move again, Chekov dragged himself under the covers and stared at the canopy. 'After tomorrow I will have other things to worry about,' he thought sleepily and dropped off.

***

Chekov woke twined around the gunner, who was gently stroking his flank. He tried to withdraw but Kahrag held him fast.

"Stay but a moment longer," the Klingon said softly.

The Human sighed his resignation and relaxed back into the huge arms.

"How I shall miss you," Kahrag murmured and pulled the lieutenant into a deep kiss.

Chekov didn't resist but also didn't participate. He let the Klingon kiss him with the same indifference he let Kahrag slide slick fingers into him. He was forced to pay a little attention when the Klingon stroked his cock to the edge of climax and then stopped.

Knowing that his charge was ready, Kahrag rolled him forward and stopped. "Look at me," he ordered softly.

Chekov raised his eyes and the Klingon must have read assent in them as he pushed the head of his penis inside the Human.

Kahrag moved slowly inside his lover, making it last as he had no idea when he would ever see this most magnificent creature again. He hit bottom and leaned his head against Chekov's collarbone almost in worship. Gathering his energy, the Klingon began to fuck his prize with long, slow strokes. Gentle, while at the same time demanding a response from the Human, Kahrag was gratified to feel Chekov subtly thrusting up against him with each stroke on his prostate. Changing his angle a little, Kahrag felt Chekov's thrusts become more urgent and heard little sighs and whimpers the Human could no longer suppress. He matched the navigator's urgency with his own and came with a roar that completely drowned out Chekov's own ecstatic cry. Kahrag rode out the mind blowing wave of his climax and gathered the shaking Human to him, soothing him and comforting him. He pulled out and lay back with Chekov across his chest. "You will miss this, Human," he mumbled when he could.

Too spent to reply, Chekov would not have had an answer anyway.

***

Chekov stood his neatly packed cases by the door for them to be picked up. Mxy was sitting by his basket awaiting developments in an uncharacteristically obedient fashion.

The Klingon had been especially tender the previous night and that morning. The Russian could still feel the glow of sex in his body. He also sensed that Kahrag would miss him more than he would miss the Klingon. 'He should not expect me to miss him at all,' he thought, 'but... the devil you know...'

Chekov had some serious reservations about living with Kboexi for the duration of Kahrag's tour of duty. How was he to behave? Would the Vixharth want to sleep with him? Even if Chekov had a choice in the matter, would he even want to say no?

Kahrag had also packed carefully but all his things fit in a large duffel that stood by the door next to Chekov's bags. The gunner was seated with Chekov in his lap, holding the human in a tight embrace and his face buried in the soft brown hair. This was a difficult leave taking for him. He would be glad when Krossoro arrived to take his mind off it. Kahrag was somewhat concerned that no one from the Vixharth's household had called yet for Chekov. However, he decided that he'd simply send Chekov and his luggage to Geshas to wait if no one showed up before he had to report to his ship. In the meantime, he was usefully memorizing everything about his darling he could: his smell, the feel of his body under the silky clothes, the softness of his hair and cheeks. This inventory was interrupted by Krossoro's arrival. "You're early, cousin."

"It takes very little time to say good-bye to my wife and children," Krossoro growled. He loved his family; he also loved getting away from them for long stretches of time in space. These separations kept his marriage 'fresh' and his children in awe of the strange man that came and lived with them periodically. It was perfect for him.

The next caller was Princess Kmit, come to fetch Chekov herself. "YOU MUST ALLOW ME TO TAKE YOU TO THE EMBARKATION POINT," she boomed goodnaturedly as her driver and footman collected Chekov's luggage and Mxy. "WE'LL SEE YOU OFF, WON'T WE, CHEKOV?" she gave the Russian's cheek a sisterly pat.

The warriors graciously accepted her offer and climbed into the huge airlimo with Chekov. Kaharg pulled the Human into his arms and was silent for the entire trip. Krossoro and Kmit discussed the hunt, Axkt hunting and hunting in general. It was a short trip; far too short for Kahrag even though Kmit had her driver circle the embarkation point twice.

Leaving the pippet in the limo, the quartet made their way through the crowd of warriors and their families milling about, saying farewell and greeting new and old comrades. Chekov drew a few stares but Kmit looked like any other Klingon matron seeing her younger brothers to their ship. At last they reached the separation point and Kahrag turned to Chekov. "Be obedient, my prize," he growled looking deeply into the Terran's eyes.

"WE'LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIM, SUBCOMMANDER, NEVER WORRY," Kmit assured him.

Kahrag glanced at her, "I've no doubt, Princess." He turned back to Chekov and drew him into a deep, tender kiss.

Only being human, Chekov could not fail to be moved by Kahrag's emotion and also considered that he might possibly never see this Klingon again. For the first time, the Russian willingly put his arms around his captor's neck and returned the kiss.

Krossoro finally managed to pry his comrade off the Terran and they headed for their transport.

Chekov turned to go but Kmit turned him back, facing the departing Klingons. "I think he won't turn back, but if he does he must find you looking after him," she said seriously.

They stood watching Kahrag's and Krossoro's backs. Thinking this was a melodramatic waste of time, Chekov was very surprised when Kahrag did turn and salute him. Chekov was so surprised, he even smiled and waved. After Kahrag disappeared into the transport, he turned to find the princess studying him.

"You might not mean that but it will be a comfort to him, whatever happens," Kmit said, steering him back to the limo. "My grandfather said it was odd what one thought of in battle. The last meal with a friend, the smell of an elusive perfume, the last look of the one you love. He said if you die in battle, these thoughts become blessings for your loved ones or ghosts to haunt your enemies." She sat back watching the crowds as the limo glided away.

"I do not understand, your highness," Chekov said quietly.

"The words or the meaning?"

"The meaning."

"Then you have not been among us quite long enough, my dear. AH, HERE WE ARE." The limo pulled up before an unmarked door. "I THOUGHT WE'D PAY A VISIT TO MY TAILOR. YOU'LL NEED SOME MORE OF THOSE EFFETE AND DECADENT WESTERN FASHIONS FOR YOUR STAY WITH US," she boomed, leading him into the luxurious interior.

"You are too kind," Chekov murmured as a team of journeyman tailors measured him from head to toe. It was not unlike his second night with Kahrag except Kmit consulted him about some of the designs. The navigator might have liked more trousers but he found nothing objectionable in Kmit's taste. "Why is everything in black?" he asked.

The tailor looked scandalized but Kmit laughingly informed the Terran that only the most chic concubines wore black all the time. "IT WILL SET OFF YOUR WHITE SKIN VERY NICELY, CHILD," she informed him stroking his cheek. "NOW, ON TO THE JEWELER!"

"Princess, I really don't think you need to spend all this money on me," Chekov ventured.

"NONSENSE! WHAT ELSE IS MONEY FOR BUT BEAUTIFUL THINGS FOR BEAUTIFUL CREATURES!" She patted his cheek and leaned down. "It's Kboexi's birthday week, my present to him will be to have you well turned out," she smiled, "it is the least I can do for my little brother."

Knowing that resistance was futile, Chekov allowed himself to be swept along in Kmit's cheerful wake. By the end of the day he roughly calculated that his wardrobe and jewel box would contain about twenty years of his former Starfleet salary.

***

Instead of the estate, Kmit brought Chekov and his new finery to Kboexi's townhouse near the city center. Bjoz and his thin companion page took Chekov's luggage and Mxy to his room. They were especially delighted to see Mxy; more so than Chekov, really.

"KBOEXI IS SHOPPING FOR PIPPETS WITH ADMIRAL K'ZRAHAAT THIS AFTERNOON." Kmit poured a cup a tea from the waiting pot and handed it to the navigator. "It is very possible he'll bring K'Zra here later to show him Mxy, and you, by extension," she smiled at Chekov's frown, "now, now, Mxy is a fine animal and you are the only Terran concubine on the homeworld at the moment," she sipped her tea. "You wouldn't be so unkind as to deny us the pleasure of displaying you to one of our fifteen hundred best friends, would you?"

Chekov laughed in spite of himself and assured her that he would do his best to please them.

"NOT TOO MUCH, WE DON'T WANT THE ADMIRAL'S INTEREST *AROUSED*, IF YOU UNDERSTAND ME," she watched Chekov nod. "All you need do is speak when you're spoken to, politely say as little as possible and keep your eyes lowered. Also, fold your hands in your lap so Kahrag's rune on your hand shows. That should forestall anyone outside of the imperial family."

"Because of Kahrag?"

"More because you're marked as *someone's* property," she informed him. "It says to Klingons: 'admire, but don't get too interestedÖ unless that interest is returned and encouraged.' Not the greatest system, but without it, likely we'd have killed ourselves over this, that and the other thing centuries ago." She stood up. "I MUST LEAVE YOU NOW, CHEKOV, BJOZ WILL LOOK AFTER YOU AND TZO IS SOMEWHERE ABOUT. GOOD-BYE, MY DEAR." The princess swept out with a flourish, leaving Chekov to contemplate his new surroundings.

The room was the size of Kahrag's quarters. It was decorated in black and gray with vivid red and purples here and there. Chekov surveyed the art work on the walls from a scarlet sofa. The paintings appeared to be historical scenes or landscapes or battle scenes, which encompassed both genres. Not knowing if he was observed or not, Chekov began to stroll along the artwork but his real goal was the large window overlooking the street.

The townhouse was on a peaceful square not far from the palace. Chekov would later learn that the spires of that edifice could be seen from this window, for now he ignored the architecture and tried to place himself in the city.

Under the guise of looking for toys for Mxy, Chekov had convinced Kahrag to allow him to look at the city directory and a map. He had been disappointed not to find any embassies of planets that might be friendly enough to the Federation to help him. In fact, he found no embassies at all, leading him to believe that the Klingons truly did not believe in diplomacy as he understood it.

With this in mind, Chekov went over the other information he'd learned. There were no commercial shuttles off the homeworld. There was offworld travel, but it had to be approved well in advance by three different ministries. Kahrag had informed him traveling offworld for pleasure was extremely rare. There was shipping but it was handled by the merchant fleets or the guilds, neither were likely to take a mysterious passenger and security was so tight it would be impossible to stowaway.

'And even if I could get on board, where would I go?' he wondered, pacing before the window. He glanced at the servant removing the tea things.

"Do you want something else, Lieutenant?" the servant asked, politely for a Klingon.

"No." Chekov was touched that Kboexi would have his servants address him by his rank and not something else. Like slut. He listened to the door close softly and the footsteps recede. 'I wonder if I could just walk out of here,' he mused, drifting in the direction of the door. No one shot at him. No one even appeared to notice he was leaving. The door was unlocked, he stepped onto the stoop and surveyed the square before him. It was empty, a few trees rustled in the breeze but otherwise silent. He looked around again and stepped onto the pavement. He turned when he heard a window open behind him.

"Chekov," Tzo leaned out of the drawing room, "will you be needing the car? The Vixharth has left instructions that if you want to go out, you may do so as long as you are properly attended. If you want to go for a walk, take Bjoz with you. You don't speak enough of our language and if you are stopped by the civil militia and questioned, I think you would have some serious problems. I will call Bjoz."

Before this could happen, they were both distracted by Mxy breaking a window on the upper floor and gliding down to Chekov. The little primate chattered happily to his master and this was how Kboexi and Admiral K'Zra found them when they arrived.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," Kboexi said pleasantly and introduced the Admiral to his houseguest.

"A fine looking animal," the Admiral growled, staring at Mxy.

Heeding Kmit's advice, Chekov lowered his eyes and held Mxy in such a way the Klingon could not fail to see his tattoo.

Bjoz came down the steps with Mxy's leash in his hands and stood next to Chekov.

"Are you taking your pet for some air, Lieutenant?" the Vixharth asked pleasantly. "Perhaps you will join us for some tea when you return," he turned and ushered the Admiral into the house.

Bjoz fixed the leash on the protesting pippet and handed it to Chekov. They both glanced up at the servant already repairing the window.

"Got to keep him away from the windows when you go out," Bjoz remarked.

Chekov nodded and led the page down the street and around the block. The houses were of much the same quality as Kboexi's. One or two were huge and ostentatious; Bjoz informed him that these mansions belonged to the Haats and the Yhets. Chekov made a few strategic observations and mental notes of the terrain but nothing very useful. It was a pleasant, wealthy neighborhood of wide, tree-lined streets, arranged around little parks. The Terran wondered why he'd thought Klingon cities were ugly; this one seemed quite nice to him.

"Will Tzo punish you because Mxy broke the window?" Chekov asked a few steps from his new home.

"Not unless you ask him to," the page replied. "Will you?"

"No," Chekov scratched the pippet's ears. "Mxy is an ill behaved little brute sometimes. I must apologize to Tzo for his poor behavior."

"He just wants to be with you," Bjoz said simply, looking up at the repaired window.

Chekov said nothing but handed Mxy to the page and went to find Tzo in the kitchen. The valet waved off his apology, growling that Bjoz should be more attentive to both Mxy and Chekov, and led Chekov into the drawing room where Kboexi and the Admiral were finishing their tea.

"Please join us, Chekov," Kboexi waved him into a chair and poured him a cup of tea.

Keeping his eyes lowered, Chekov could feel K'Zra's stare.

"Where did you get your pippet, Terran?" the warrior growled.

"He was a gift," Chekov murmured.

"From whom?"

"Commander Kahrag."

"Ah. You must please this Kahrag very much."

Chekov had no answer for this. K'Zra was not expecting an answer and turned back to his conversation with Kboexi. He followed as much of it as he could but soon lost interest. He was musing on how he would teach Mxy not to break windows to get out when the Klingons concluded their conversation and rose to leave. Chekov started to rise but Kboexi patted his shoulder and said he'd be right back. Out of the corner of his eye, the Russian saw K'Zra look him over once more and then leave the room with the Vixharth.

The Vixharth returned and sat down. "Have you found everything to your satisfaction, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, thank you." Chekov replied, suddenly somewhat unnerved to be alone with Kboexi.

"Does your bedroom please you?"

"I haven't seen it yet but I'm sure it will."

"When did you arrive, Chekov?"

"Not very long ago. Princess Kmit took me shopping after we saw Kahrag and Krossoro off at the embarkation point."

"How like my sister to see them off," Kboexi mused. "Where did she take you?"

"Her tailor and jeweler," Chekov admitted, rather shamefacedly. "Your sister is very generous, your grace."

"Yes, to take the time to see the warriors off is quite like her," the Vixharth regarded his charge fondly, "but buying you a few things was pure enjoyment for her, not so much generosity as you might think." Kboexi took Chekov's hand and drew him to his feet. "After all, she will have the pleasure of seeing you in her gifts when she visits, which will be often as she enjoys you, Chekov."

"She does? I'm surprised, IÖ" he looked up to find the Vixharth studying him.

"I think," Kboexi said softly, "she enjoys us."

Chekov took a step back and lowered his eyes.

"I've made you uncomfortable," the Klingon said briskly, "please forgive me. It was not my intention to do so."

"It's all right, your grace, I am not uncomfortable; simply tired," Chekov smiled wryly. "I did not get very much sleep last night."

"I can imagine," Kboeix chuckled, "well, then, let me show you your bedroom and you might have a nap before dinner, yes?"

"Yes, thank you," Chekov followed the Vixharth down a wide hall and up a flight of stairs. He contrasted the peace and comfort of this house with the hard angles and echoes of the estate and wondered how much time Kboexi really spent in the country.

His bedroom overlooked the little square he'd seen from the front door. It was a sunny, cheerful room, with cream colored walls and bright rugs on the tile floor. In addition to the large canopied bed, there was a desk and chair, two well upholstered armchairs and a small table by the window. The pages were busy unpacking Chekov's clothes and readers.

Mxy had already staked out one of the chairs as his and was playing in it. However, he dropped his toy and went to greet Chekov and Kboexi again. The pippet seemed to be adjusting well; he'd taken all his toys and arranged them in 'his' chair in the order of his preference.

Chekov glanced guiltily at the newly repaired window. "I'm sorry Mxy broke the window, your grace," he said softly.

"Did he? Why ever?"

"To get out," Chekov admitted. "He saw me on the street and broke the window to get out."

"I see," the Vixharth shot an irritated look at the pages, "you and Mxy should be better attended."

"I'm afraid I was impulsive, your grace," Chekov said quickly, "I stepped outside without telling anyone I was going to do so. I apologizeÖ"

Kboexi silenced him with a finger on his lips. "Please, Lieutenant, you needn't apologize." He smiled and lifted his finger off the soft flesh. "If you are concerned I will punish your servants: I will not, that is up to you. If you feel they need to be disciplined, you may beat them as you see fit or ask Tzo to do it for you."

"Oh." Chekov nodded, not at all certain what response was expected from him. "I have no objections so far, your grace."

"That's good, Chekov. I want you to be as comfortable as possible while you are here," Kboexi turned to go. "I will leave you to your nap," he named the hour of dinner, more for the pages' benefit than Chekov's, and left the room.

Chekov sighed wearily and reached out to draw the curtains.

"We'll do that," the thin page said, handing him a silky black robe, "go lie down. We'll wake you in plenty of time to dress for dinner." This was offered in polite and carefully enunciated Klingonese. The pages had been warned that their welfare was directly connected to this Terran's happiness and comfort.

"Thank you," Chekov handed Mxy to the page and turned to allow Bjoz to help him undress. 'How did I dress and undress before?' he wondered sleepily, sliding between crisp cool sheets. The pages drew the bed curtains and left him to his nap. He dozed off listening to them quietly putting the room in order and Mxy playing contentedly in his chair.

***

"I hope you will not object," Kboexi said over dinner, "but I have engaged a tutor to help you with your Klingonese and whatever other Klingon subjects you might find of interest."

"That is very kind of you, your grace," Chekov said.

They were dining alone that evening. Chekov had awoken refreshed and allowed the pages to dress him in a fur trimmed, embroidered black gown. Bjoz pick out a necklace, a bracelet and a large brooch from the jewels Kmit had given Chekov. The Russian rejected the necklace but agreed to wear the bracelet and allowed him to pin the brooch near his shoulder. The page swept Chekov's hair off his face with a jeweled comb.

"I do not want you to be bored while you are here, Chekov," Kboexi poured the navigator a little more wine. "How did you spend your time in Kahrag's home?"

"Housework."

"Housework?" The Vixharth was nonplused. "Kahrag had you clean his house?"

Chekov nodded.

"I see. Well, that won't be necessary here, I assure you." Kboexi paused to drink some wine. "You'll have plenty of time for your lessons in the morning and your afternoons will be your own. I hope you will not mind my company in the evening. And, of course the theater and hunting seasons are just beginning so I hope to find many things to amuse you, Lieutenant."

"I do enjoy the theater." Chekov smiled a little.

Kboexi covered the Terran's hand with his own. "I want you to be happy here, Chekov."

Chekov lowered his eyes and wondered if he should be happy there even if he *could*.

***

Chekov was introduced to his tutor, K'Hospoda, the next morning.

K'Hospoda was an ancient academic who'd grown bored in retirement and now tutored the children and concubines of wealthy Klingons. His specialty had been first empire Klingon history but he was an adept teacher of whatever subject he was requested to teach. He found Chekov a rewarding pupil, albeit exotic and alluring. More than once did the old Klingon's hand stray to the navigator's knee until Tzo, who was somewhere in the vicinity during these lessons, took him aside and had a word or two with him.

Chekov was enjoying his lessons and looked forward to them everyday except Rsusha and Gnia, the usual days for Klingons to rest and play. In the afternoons, the navigator either studied or took Mxy for a walk in the neighborhood or to a nearby park. Occasionally he asked to be taken to a museum or library or some other place of interest. He was never refused and was always well chaperoned on these outings. His evenings were spent in the Vixharth's company. They played chess or Cvrik, a chess-like Klingon game. Or simply talked; more and more in Klingonese as Chekov progressed. They grew close. Chekov was surprised how much he missed the Vixharth's company on those evenings when Kboexi was dining out. He merely shrugged and turned his mind to other things but the longing was there no matter how he tried to ignore it.

***

Chekov squirmed in his seat and tried to concentrate on the action on stage. There was no external reason to be uncomfortable. Kboexi's box at the Imperial Theatre was furnished with every comfort. The opera they were viewing was loud, but very entertaining. It was a sort of Klingon version of "Mother Courage" -- drained of all anti-war sentiment, of course. On stage the last of the valiant mother's sons was being drafted for military service. A group of masked dancers performed a complex precision drill as the son adopted their costume piece by piece.

Chekov wondered if those in the pit could appreciate the formations of the performers that seemed designed to play to those viewing from the more expensive seats above. Looking around at the boxes across from them, the lieutenant spotted an amorous couple enjoying a private drama of their own.

The navigator blushed as he remembered the night Kahrag had taken him to see the "modern" drama. It wasn't the first time this evening that incident had come to mind. Chekov would never in a million years admit he missed the gunner, but in the privacy of his own thoughts, he did have to concede that he already missed the sex... Badly.

'Like a spoiled slut,' he reprimanded himself silently.

His thoughts remained obediently chaste for all of thirty seconds. Then a slightly revised version of the night at the modern drama began to play in his thoughts. This time, Kboexi replaced Kahrag as his co-star.

When Chekov cleared his throat and readjusted his seating in a stern attempt to redirect himself from this dangerous line of thinking, the Vixharth turned to him questioningly. The lieutenant smiled a reassurance that he was well -- grateful that a verbal reply was not required of him at this time.

Kboexi returned his smiled and patted the Human on the shoulder. He let his hand rest there afterwards. Such familiar and affectionate gestures were becoming commonplace on the Vixharth's part. The two of them had grown very comfortable in each other's company during the evenings they spent playing chess or conversing. Chekov found himself enjoying the Vixharth's company very, very much on those evenings when Kboexi was not dining out. He wondered if he wasn't enjoying his evenings with Kboexi *too* much. Determined not to prove himself the wanton that Kahrag thought him to be, Chekov had resolutely turned his mind to other things on such occasions. However, the longing was there no matter how he tried to ignore it.

The announcement that the two of them would be attending the opera caused something of a stir in the Vixharth's household. Chekov had not been able to catch the servants' furtive whispers and those he questioned had been evasive, but it seemed that Kboexi had not attended an opera since someone's death.

The Vixharth didn't seem at all grief-stricken or memory-ridden at the moment. The Klingon let his hand slip down the lieutenant's shoulder until it covered Chekov's. When Kboexi squeezed the navigator's hand affectionately, Chekov impulsively returned the friendly pressure. Although the lieutenant immediately turned his palm back over, the Vixharth left his in place.

The gentle warmth of the Vixharth's hand over his made the Russian's heart beat wildly. He sat very still, afraid to do anything that might break the perfection of the moment. The moment continued through the rest of the final act. The two of them sat touching hands -- completely unaware that they smiled through the most tragic plot twists of the most tragic opera of the season.

Kboexi reluctantly released his guest a full minute after the applause started. They traveled down to the Vixharth's airlimo in silence.

"So you enjoyed it?" Kboexi asked when they were comfortably settled in the backseat.

It took Chekov a moment to realize the Klingon was asking about the opera. "It was very interesting. Did you... enjoy it?"

"Yes." Kboexi smiled in such a way that he made the lieutenant uncertain if *he* were just talking about the play. "It has been a long time since I've enjoyed the opera so much..." A note of sadness entered the Vixharth's voice. "A very long time."

Chekov was burning with curiosity about the Klingon's unhappy past with someone associated with the opera, but didn't feel comfortable to press for more information.

"Were you able to follow words?" Kboexi asked, changing the subject.

"Reasonably well," the lieutenant answered. "It certainly helped to be familiar with the historical background."

"Your tutor is to be commended... And so are you. You've made excellent progress in your studies. As your former teacher, I can't help but be pleased." The eye contact between them warmed beyond the point of mere friendliness. "You do please me," Kboexi continued. "As perceptive as you are, you must be aware that my feelings have begun to deepen beyond a mere appreciation for your accomplishments and conversation. At first, I merely enjoyed our evenings together. Now I find myself longing for them."

Chekov swallowed and remained silent, although the Klingon's sentiments were dangerously close to his own.

"When I am with you, I experience a sort of ... joy -- A joy that I thought I would never be able to experience again." A shadow of sadness crossed the Vixharth's face again. "I suppose the staff has told you about my unfortunate experience with the opera singer."

"I heard them say you'd not been to the opera for several years. They didn't say why."

Kboexi lifted an eyebrow. "Remind me to reward them for their extraordinary discretion... Well, no matter then. The important thing is that I feel for the first time that I have finally put that unpleasantness behind me.... And it's all because of you."

The Vixharth reached out and would have touched him had a slight jar not alerted them both that they'd arrived at the townhouse. The limo doors whooshed open and the Klingon's legion of servants descended on them, escorting them into the house and out of their outer garb.

"That will be all," Kboexi dismissed his staff after enduring the interruption for as long as he could.

"But, sir..." one porter ventured.

"That will be all," the Vixharth repeated unequivocally.

Once they were alone, he turned once more to the navigator. Kboexi opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. He decided a kiss would be more eloquent.

Chekov could not help returning the embrace. All the weeks and months of building sexual tension between the two of them seem to pour into this passionate pressing together of their lips and bodies.

At last, Kboexi pulled back. He smiled at the Human. "And so to bed," he said softly.

This unfortunate echo of Kahrag hit the lieutenant like a bucket of ice water.

"No," he said, stepping back.

Kboexi stood stunned for a moment with his hands frozen in the position they'd so recently been around the navigator. "No?" he repeated disbelievingly.

"No," Chekov repeated, straightening his clothing. "I don't wish to."

The Klingon's face worked through a variety of emotions, rapidly darkening into rage. "What?"

"No," the lieutenant repeated firmly. "I don't wish to. I am a guest here, not a concubine."

At this, Kboexi flashed his teeth in the same sort of signal of dangerous animal lust the navigator had seen so many times in Kahrag. His breath was coming in short puffs. "I won't be trifled with, Human," he growled.

This was also a most unfortunate reminder of the lieutenant's former captor. "How nice for you," Chekov said coldly, heading for the stairs. "Goodnight."

As the Russian was almost past him, the Klingon gave a strangled roar and lunged for Chekov. The navigator dodged him and fled to his room without looking back.

Chekov caught a glimpse of Princess Kmit and her entourage coming to join them for a nightcap as he ran up the stairs. Closing his bedroom door behind him, he realized for the first time that it had no lock.

"What's wrong?" Bjoz rose nervously with Mxy in his arms.

"Nothing," Chekov panted, hearing two sets of footsteps coming closer, "take Mxy to your room for the night," he ordered, moving to the far side of the room, away from the bed. "Go!" he hissed, "go, now!" He watched the door open and Tzo enter, followed closely by Kboexi. They remained silent until Bjoz had scurried out with Mxy.

"Your consent is not really necessary, Chekov," Kboexi informed him, coldly. "Tzo is perfectly capable of holding you down for me." He motioned the valet toward the Human.

"WHAT GOES ON HERE, BROTHER?" Kmit boomed in the doorway.

Tzo halted and exchanged uncertain looks with his master as the princess crossed to the Human.

"CHEKOV, YOU'RE WHITE AS SNOW. COME ALONG TO MY ROOM AND WE'LL HAVE A CHAT." She took him by the elbow and steered him down the hallway to what had been her bedroom as a girl but was now more of a boudoir/sitting room. "Now," she fixed him with a piercing look, "what was that all about?"

Chekov haltingly explained that Kboexi had asked him to go to bed with him and that Chekov had refused. It had been a shock to the Human to realize his refusal had not been accepted; that it had in fact provoked the Vixharth to violence.

Kmit listened to him trail off; her face unreadable. "I cannot believe you've rejected my brother," she said at last.

Chekov winced at the naked hurt in her voice. "It was not exactly that, IÖ"

"I have eyes and ears, Terran," she snarled, pacing.

Chekov lowered his eyes in defeat.

"After all we've done for you, after we've taken you into our hearts and you reject him." She came to a sudden halt before him. "Does he repel you? Do you despise him?" she demanded, jerking his chin up and glaring into his eyes.

"I'm afraid."

"Of what? Of me?"

"No, no, PrincessÖ"

"I am angry, Chekov, but I would never hurt you or allow anyone to hurt you if I could prevent it," she said sadly.

"I'm not afraid of being hurt physically."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to fall in love with Kboexi."

Kmit was silent a moment and then narrowed her eyes. "Afraid you'll fall in love in the *future*?" she queried, "or that you already have?"

Chekov nodded vaguely, "One of those, at least."

"What's the problem? He loves you; you either do or will love him." She began to pace again. "I've seldom seen two beings so suited for each other. Why do you hesitate?"

"I don't belong hereÖ"

"So you keep saying."

"I want to go home."

"Why? What's there?"

"My friends, my family, my shipÖ"

"The past. Is it so wonderful? Haven't you a much more promising future here with the people who love you?"

"Ömy freedom."

"You are young," she said, taking his arm and calling for her maid. "You will find with maturity that freedom is vastly overrated." She told her maid to find Kboexi and ask him to come to Chekov's room immediately. "Now, no nonsense, Chekov," she said, steering him down the hall. "Simply do what feels right and ignore your reason. Reason is useless in these situations, trust me on that." They found Kboexi waiting in Chekov's room, "AH, BROTHER, IT'S ALL BEEN A BIG MISUNDERSTANDING. A CULTURAL MISCOMMUNICATION; THANK GOD I'M HERE TO STRAIGHTEN EVERYONE OUT," she boomed, throwing Chekov into the startled Vixharth's arms, "HE LOVES YOU OR WILL VERY SOON. THIS MAKES HIM NERVOUS. YOU MUST THEREFORE BE EVEN MORE PATIENT WITH HIM THAN YOU HAVE. GOOD NIGHT." She swept out, shooing Tzo, and the pages in front of her. "THEY DON'T NEED ANY OF YOU TO TUCK THEM IN, GO TO BED!"

Kboexi released Chekov and stepped back. "I apologize, Lieutenant, I don't know what got into me," he said formally, "I had a Klingon moment. I promise you it will never happen again."

"It is quite all right," Chekov sighed wearily, keeping his eyes down.

"I will leave you to sleep, IÖ" the Vixharth trailed off, "I've behaved abominably, I pray you will forgive me."

"I do, your grace, please stop apologizing. It's quite all right, I am notÖ injured." Chekov clasped his hands to stop them shaking and wished Kboexi would leave so he could think.

"I don't wish to torment you, Chekov, but what *did* my sister mean that you are in love with me or will be?" Kboexi asked, embarrassed and hesitant, "I won't sleep well if I don't know."

Chekov took a steadying breath and looked up at the Vixharth. "I told her I was afraid I would fall in love with you if we became lovers," he said simply, "but I think it is too late to fall in love with you."

"Because I was such a beast?" Kboexi asked sadly.

"No." Chekov stared at the carpet. "Because I am already in love with you."

Kboexi could not trust his voice. He reached out a tentative, trembling hand and gently brushed the hair off Chekov's brow before crushing the navigator in his arms. "I will leave you for tonight so you may sleep and forget my bad behavior," he said after a moment. "TomorrowÖ tomorrow we can start anew." He pressed a kiss to Chekov's brow and left the room without looking back.

The Russian slumped against the wall and loosened his collar. Suddenly exhausted, he ripped off his clothes and jewels and fell into bed. His last waking thought was that he should pick up his clothes. In the morning, he found that one of the pages had done it for him.

***

"The Vixharth will expect you to do certain things tonight."

Chekov looked up at Tzo, standing over his bath. "Get out," he said mildly.

Tzo was momentarily taken aback. "Lieutenant, it is necessary for you to understand how you are to behave in the Vixharth's bed."

"Did the Vixharth send you in here, Tzo?"

"No, howeverÖ"

"Then get out."

The valet hesitated and then leaned forward: "Are you angry with me about last night?"

"No," Chekov assured him, "you were ordered to do what you almost did." He ran some more hot water and wished the Klingon would leave so he could get out of the tub before he shriveled up. "But you're annoying me now so get out."

"But I really mustÖ"

"Mxy!" Chekov called, "Mxy, here boy, ah, there you are, come!" The pippet perched on the edge of the tub. Chekov turned back to Tzo: "If you don't leave, I will sick this pippet on you," he informed the shocked valet.

"You wouldn't dare." Tzo tried to brazen it out but didn't like the determined look in the brown and cobalt blue pairs of eyes regarding him.

"Find out, Klingon," Chekov challenged.

Tzo held the Terran's eyes a moment longer. "Very well." He spun on his heel and marched out.

Chekov called for his servants and rose from the tub. He accepted a towel from Bjoz and handed Mxy to the thin page. "I'll wear the black gown that shows my shoulders. And the collar and cuff of brilliants. The ring with the black stones and the brooch with the moonstones and jet." Chekov allowed Bjoz to pull his long hair up and back with jeweled combs and pins. The Russian regarded his reflection: hollow cheeks and pallor in the elegant clothes and jewels. 'Why does he want me? I look like an underfed, overdressed wraith.' He adjusted the neckline of his gown and slid his feet into the embroidered slippers Bjoz placed before him. He glanced at the clock on the mantle and sighed. 'Well, if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right.' He told the pages to bring some candles and put them by the bed and to have a fire lit before they went to bed. He was pleased they kept straight faces at this request. They merely nodded as he left the room to join Kboexi for dinner.

As usual, Chekov found the Vixharth in the huge living room waiting for him. He accepted a glass of mineral water and waited for his host to open the conversation, also as usual.

"I understand you threw Tzo out of your bedroom," Kboexi said mildly, with a hint of amusement.

"I did," Chekov admitted. "Are you angry?"

"Oh, heavens, no. Tzo has a great respect for tradition and the proprieties." The Klingon cast a thoughtful eye over his charge. "Are you angry?"

"No. He left when I threatened to have Mxy attack him."

"A sensible decision on Tzo's part," Kboexi observed as he led the Human to the table.

They were alone in the vast, candle lit dining room. Chekov had always been fond of candlelight. He did not, however, know how fond the Vixharth had become of looking at him in the soft light. It was something Kboexi found himself eagerly anticipating on a daily basis.

"Are youÖ" the Vixharth searched for a word in Chekov's Klingon vocabulary, "content?"

The navigator looked up from his grain salad and nodded, "Yes, this is very good."

"I was not referring to the food, Lieutenant."

Chekov leaned back as the next course was placed before him: a roasted tomato-like vegetable stuffed with nuts and dried fruit. Once again contemplating that the Vixharth's cooks must be geniuses, the Human looked up into Kboexi's anxious eyes. "I am content, your grace."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Is there something you would like to be different?"

"No."

"I see. You will tell me if there is somethingÖ" Chekov blandly met his eyes. "Ö anything that causes you not to be content, won't you?"

Chekov nodded, "I will," and went back to his dinner.

Realizing he was famished, Kboexi followed his example.

They spent the evening playing chess. Kboexi had become a challenging partner over the past few months. Chekov found himself looking at the Vixharth's hands and wondering how they would feel on his body when they were in bed. He then marveled at how calmly he was taking all this. 'I've been here too long,' he mourned in his mind.

The Vixharth was distracted by similar thoughts but managed to hold his own in the chess game. At its conclusion, he excused himself to take care of some business. He hesitated beside Chekov and then ran his fingers lightly over the bare Human shoulder before leaving the room.

Neither of them said 'I'll see you later' but it hung in the air between them like smoke.

'I'll see you later' seemed to follow Chekov up to his room, where he found candles by the bed and a fire in the grate. He let Bjoz help him out of his clothes and played with Mxy for few moments before sending the pippet off with the pages. Chekov did not feel up to Mxy's scrutiny that night. He crawled into bed and picked up a reader. He knew Kboexi's room adjoined this one and wondered if this had been the plan all along. 'Even if it was, so what?' he wondered, reading the poems K'Hospoda had assigned him and listening for Kboexi. For something active to do, he lit the candles. Some time went by; he began to wonder sleepily if he wasn't supposed to be waiting in the Vixharth's bed. He fought down the shiver that thought sent up his spine. He was debating whether simply to go to sleep when Kboexi finally knocked and entered.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, Chekov," he said softly, almost shyly.

Chekov put the reader aside and folded his hands in his lap. "No, your grace." The Russian suddenly felt awkward; he'd grown so used to Kahrag throwing himself on him, he no longer knew how lovers normally got into bed with each other.

Kboexi seemed to be in the same bind: this was an unusual situation and he was unsure how to proceed. He gestured vaguely to the bed, "May I join you?"

"If you like," Chekov exhaled. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath.

Kboexi found this amusing and let it show. "I do," he chuckled, tossing his robe onto the end of the bed and climbing in beside the navigator. "What were you reading?" he asked, drawing Chekov into his arms.

"Three poems from the Bndira," Chekov said, snuggling into those arms.

"K'Hospoda has you reading that?" the Vixharth leaned back to look at his charge. He brushed Chekov's hair out of his eyes.

Chekov nodded.

"You must be progressing quite well if you can understand the Bndira," the Klingon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Chekov's brow.

"I understand the words," Chekov assured him, sliding his arms around Kboexi's neck as the Vixharth descended to his lips.

The Vixharth relaxed and played a leisurely kiss over the soft Human lips. "The words," he murmured thoughtfully against Chekov's cheek. "But not the meaning?"

"No; not the meaning," Chekov whispered, relaxing into Kboexi's pace (which appeared to be significantly different from Karhag's).

"The Bndira is difficult," Kboexi mused, settling Chekov's head on his shoulder. "It was written during the first Romulan war, which was eight hundred of your Standard years ago. It was composed by an anonymous author, who, like many people of that time, did not agree with the war and did not support it. The poems are protests that we Klingons were betraying our better nature and best interests in that war. The poet turned out to be right, as usual."

"Oh," Chekov looked up at him, "I thought it was about K'tala and Krt's love affair."

"That is the metaphor."

"I was wondering why they were soÖ" Chekov searched his vocabulary and settled on "crazy."

"Crazy, dreadful times, my dear," the Vixharth tightened his arms. "We Klingons have progressed quite a bit since then." He smiled down at the navigator and tugged at the lapels of his robe. "Take this off," he husked.

Chekov obeyed and tried not to shiver with pleasure as the Klingon's soft hands roamed over his back and shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Kboexi stilled his hands.

"NothingÖ IÖ" the Human blushed, "I'mÖ"

The Vixharth waited.

"Don't stop," Chekov sighed at last.

Kboexi chuckled softly, "I won't, if it pleases you." He pulled Chekov close and kissed him, gentling the Human's mouth open to explore its warm softness.

Chekov relaxed into the kiss and let his body respond naturally. It felt good simply to enjoy the contact and not worry about if it was right or wrong to do so. He drifted, waiting for the Vixharth's next move.

Very slowly, Kboexi let his hands wend their way down to Chekov's ass and gently caress it.

Chekov sighed against his lover's neck and tugged at the Vixharth's nightshirt. "Take this off," he ordered, hastily adding, "please."

"As you desire, Chekov," Kboexi complied and returned his hands to the navigator's body.

Relaxing against the cool, leathery skin, Chekov paused to compare Kboexi to Kahrag. 'There is no comparison,' he thought as the Vixharth eased him onto his back. 'Kahrag is a savageÖ' Kboexi kissed a trail down to Chekov's erection, 'Ö and KboexiÖ is not.' He gave up his comparative study as the Klingon swirled his tongue around the head of his penis. Chekov let all the breath go out of his lungs and tried to keep his hips on the mattress as Kboexi devoured him to the root.

Perhaps it was the long abstinence or perhaps it was the electricity between the Human and Klingon, but Chekov did not last long under Kboexi's skillful ministrations. Chekov tried to warn the Vixharth before he came but this only caused Kboexi to thrust the Human's cock down his throat and swallow as his charge came like a house on fire.

Sucking every last cum molecule off his lover, Kboexi dragged his tongue up the panting Human's torso and to his ear. "Let's see if Tzo left anything in the bedside table, shall we?" he whispered wickedly, reaching for the lubricant there.

At the Vixharth's urging, Chekov rolled onto his stomach. He patiently folded his hands beneath his head and tried to relax as the Klingon slid slick fingers into him, stretching and preparing him for intercourse. He nodded in response to Kboexi asking him if he was ready. 'As I'll ever be,' he thought, suddenly dismayed that this was happening. 'Is this all I'm good for here?' he wondered as the Klingon pushed his cockhead inside.

"Are you all right, Chekov?" Kboexi asked while he still could. He watched Chekov nod and didn't really believe him but was too aroused to stop. Making a quick mental note to question the Human - later - he gently slid all the way in and paused to allow them both to adjust. Feeling Chekov relax, Kboexi reached beneath the navigator to stroke his cock back to hardness. He found the Human was fully erect and, pleased, began to fuck him with short, gentle pulses, lengthening to long hard strokes as he brought them both closer to climax.

Chekov was whimpering and thrusting against the Klingon's hard strokes by the time Kboexi brought them both off. They lay in a sweaty, panting heap for a moment before the Vixharth gently pulled out and rolled onto his back. He pulled the Human into his arms and stroked his hair and neck. "Were you sad?" he asked.

"No." Chekov answered too quickly.

"Not even a little?" Kboexi asked, not believing him, "just a little before we joined?"

"Perhaps a little," Chekov admitted.

"Why?" the Vixharth propped himself up on one elbow to examine his charge. "Did I hurt you? Did IÖ"

"No, no," Chekov soothed, "no, nothing like that. I justÖ I just wonder what I used to be like sometimes."

"What do you mean?" Kboexi asked gently.

"What I was like on the Enterprise, on Terra," Chekov said quietly. "It seems like I read all that in a book or I dreamed it."

Kboexi drew the sleepy Human into his arms and soothed him to sleep. "I understand, my dear, I understand," he murmured, even though he really didn't. He had no intention of returning Chekov to Kahrag, much less his former life, not now; especially not now.

***

Chekov woke as usual to one of the pages opening the curtains, handing him a cup of ahmrasine and Mxy scampering over the bed clothes. Obviously the Vixharth had left after Chekov had fallen asleep, however, the Klingon had definitely been here: Mxy was sniffing the other pillow with great interest. Chekov pulled his pet away from the interesting object. The pippet had a jealous streak and had once urinated on Kahrag's pillow, next to Kahrag's head as a matter of fact. Mxy seemed disinclined to do so this morning, however, Chekov decided to be safe and tossed him into his chair where he would play with his toys while the pages stripped and changed the bed.

The Human ran himself a cool tub and lay down in it. He wasn't sore or sad or happy; he was null. He had no feelings at all about the previous night. It had been pleasant, that was all. He was fond of the Vixharth and was glad he was a gentle lover, that was all. He surmised that Kboexi would want him again that night and it would likely be the same. That thought sent a thrill of anticipation up his spine. 'And I will see him at dinner beforehand,' he thought. Another thrill up his spine. 'Perhaps I am not as detached from all this as I would like to be,' he mused, rising from the tub and wrapping a robe around himself. He stepped into his bedroom at the same moment the Vixharth did.

The pages offered startled bows and Mxy rose up on his hind legs, chattering a greeting.

If Kboexi saw any of this he gave no sign as his eyes were fixed on Chekov. He quickly crossed the room and took the Human into his arms. He bent Chekov's head back and kissed him deeply. "I could not wait another moment to see you," he murmured against Chekov's ear.

"Then you should have slept here," Chekov observed. "You could have seen me wake up."

"Perhaps one day I will," Kboexi released him. "For now, I don't want to shock Tzo or your pages too much. It is not customary for me to sleep anywhere but my own bed," he offered in response to Chekov's questioning look.

"It's all right," Chekov smiled, "I really don't mind waking up alone." 'It's nice after Kahrag jumping me every morning,' he mused.

Kboexi bent down to kiss the Human's cheek and excused himself, promising to see him at dinner. "We'll have my sister with us," he said in parting. "She won't wait to see 'the happy couple,' as she puts it, a moment longer."

Chekov smiled and nodded and watched his lover leave the room. 'And he is my lover; no way around that.' He turned his thoughts to dressing as K'Hospoda would be there soon and he wanted a few bites of breakfast before his lesson.

***

Rising from Kboexi's arms that afternoon, Chekov surveyed the wreckage of his room. Their clothes were flung hither and thither and the Human's reader lay face down where he'd dropped it upon the Vixharth's very unexpected arrival.

"Your grace!" Chekov had exclaimed, as delighted as surprised.

"Send your servants and pet away for the afternoon," the Klingon husked, hastily, somewhat desperately, adding, "please."

Chekov snapped his fingers and was impressed by the smooth and fluid teamwork his pages executed in scooping up the protesting pippet, their own work and exiting.

The Vixharth wasted few movements to remove Chekov's and his own clothes and lay down on the bed with his charge. Pulling the Human in to a deep kiss, Kboexi held him close and stroked his back. "Chekov, I'mÖ" he hesitated, "Ö in something of a hurryÖ"

"It's all right," Chekov soothed, laying back and spreading his legs.

Quickly but thoroughly preparing his charge, Kboexi took a deep breath and centered his cock. He pressed in gently and paused to let Chekov adjust before he slid all the way in. Moving in long hard thrusts, he retained enough presence of mind to reach between them to stroke the Human' to climax. Chekov's clenching sent the Klingon over the edge and he fell forward and buried his face in the navigator's neck.

"Thank you," Kboexi mumbled, rolling onto his back and draping the Human across his chest.

"You're welcome," Chekov murmured, not sure what Tzo's code of conduct might require now. "I'm surprised to see you; you're seldom home in the afternoon," he said, running his fingers over the Klingon's bronze nipples.

"I could not concentrate on anything but making love to you," Kboexi admitted, "so I made excuses to the Empress Mother and rushed home." He pulled the combs out of Chekov's soft brown hair and fluffed it. "I am glad you were here."

"Yes," Chekov sighed, "me, too." He rolled away and sat up. "Won't Tzo be shocked by this?"

"About as much as your pages," the Klingon informed him, "but they will all recover." He pulled Chekov back into his arms. "I have not felt this way in a long time, Chekov. You, they, everyone must let me enjoy it."

"I will enjoy it with you," Chekov said quietly, curling into his lover and putting his arm around the Klingon's neck. "But I should get up. I'm home because Kmit is coming to have tea with me."

"Ah, well, in that case," the Vixharth released him, "I hope she will not mind if I join you."

Chekov assured him that it would be delightful and suggested they shower together. He watched Kboexi consider this idea as if it were the most original and outrageous idea he'd ever heard of and then agree. "Don't you bathe with your lovers?" he asked, innocently, adjusting the temperature.

"Never," Kboexi informed him and dragged him under the spray, "but I never knew what I was missing." He bent Chekov back in a soapy, ravenous kiss.

They were understandably a little late getting downstairs to greet Princess Kmit but she was completely good-natured about it. Especially seeing how flushed and refreshed they looked.

"AH, THERE YOU ARE," she hailed them from the tea table, "AND LOOKING ABSURDLY HAPPY." She gave Chekov an arch, but not unkind, look.

Kboexi nodded urbanely and poured everyone a drink. They chatted amicably until dinner was announced.

'This house runs like clockwork,' Chekov thought ruefully. 'Sex in the afternoon notwithstanding.' He dug into his meager dinner (even Kboexi's cooks could find only so much with a low enough arsenic content for him to eat) and tried to follow Kmit's conversation.

"Ö HAPPY WITH HER AS IF HE HAD GOOD SENSE!"

"I fully believe the crown prince simply saw the merit in the female you introduced him to, Sister," Kboexi observed. "K'shada is from one of our best families. And," he smiled warmly at Chekov, "as you know, you have exquisite taste in these matters."

"THE YHETS STILL HATE US WESTERNERS. I WORRY FOR HER SAFETY."

"They'd never go so far as to murder the prince's bride," the Vixharth observed. "And if they were going to try, they would have tried by now."

"SHE HAS AN ADMIRABLE SECURITY TEAM ABOUT HER."

"Of course, Sister, Princess K'shada  **is**  from the West after all," Kboexi said. "She's not likely to be knifed in her sleep unless it's by her husband.

"HARDLY, BROTHER," Kmit chuckled, "THEY MIGHT EVEN BE IN LOVE." She smiled at Chekov. "I'VE HEARD IT HAPPENS TO KLINGONS NOW AND THEN." She momentarily turned to devour her entrÈe. "NOW ABOUT THIS TIGER HUNT FOR THE CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS. WHICH HAAT IS MOST LIKELY TO LEND US SHIPS TO GET TO OXIAN?"

"I'd say Admiral K'KeraHaat," Kboexi told her. "I believe you met his wife at the Chekov hunt." He turned to the startled human. "Oh, yes, that's what we call it, my dearÖ"

"IT STANDS OUT SO IN OUR MINDS THAT WAY, CHEKOV."

Clueless as to what else to do, Chekov smiled sweetly and that seemed to be all that was required of him.

"LADY K'RIN." Kmit boomed over her final course.

"Yes. Admiral K'KeraHaat's good lady."

"DRESSES LIKE A WHORE, AS I RECALL."

"I was not so observant, Sister. I suggest you invite them and several other couples to dine at your house and see if you can't win the Admiral over."

"WELL, K-BO, I'LL CERTAINLY DO MY BEST," she laughed. "WILL YOU BE THERE TO HELP ME?"

"Of course, Kmit," he smiled, "I wouldn't' miss it for the world. I shall even bring Chekov."

"IF YOU CAN GET OUT OF BED, THAT IS."

***

Kboexi and Chekov did not have much conversation after dinner and Kmit had some other calls to pay so she did not linger. She bade them an affectionate farewell and was gone, her entourage following in her wake.

"Shall we play chess, Chekov?" Kboexi asked a little too neutrally.

"Do you want to?" Chekov asked a little too innocently.

"No." He pulled the Human to him and kissed him gently. "No, I'd rather spend the evening in your arms."

Chekov sighed and lay his head on the Vixharth's shoulder. He allowed himself to be guided upstairs, where he faced a minor rebellion. Mxy, tired of being ignored and exiled, wrapped himself around one of the bedposts and could not be moved. "Well, all right; you can stay," Chekov soothed the pippet and sent the pages to bed.

"I do hope he's not going to be a pest, Chekov," Kboexi commented, scratching Mxy's purple ears.

"No. He just wants some attention and then he'll settle down for the night," Chekov said. "He'll watch us; I hope that doesn't bother you."

"Not at all. Did it bother Kahrag to be observed?"

"A little," Chekov admitted. "But he and Mxy had a troubled relationship."

"Ah." Kboexi leaned back against the bed pillows and watched Chekov playing tug-o-war with his pet. Eventually the pippet was mollified and reassured and grew sleepy enough to curl up in Chekov's arms. The Russian settled the sleeping primate into his basket and turned back to his lover. He crawled into the Vixharth's arms and relaxed into the pleasant tingle of anticipation that thrummed in both of them.

At the Vixharth's gentle urging, Chekov tilted his head back for a kiss. It was a long, leisurely kiss - full of little pauses and variations, punctuated with soft sighs and purrs. It left Chekov breathless and Kboexi nearly so.

"Aren't you rather warm in these clothes?" the Vixharth asked pointedly, tugging at his own collar.

Nodding in agreement, Chekov rose and began to remove his clothes. He slowed down when he realized Kboexi was enjoying his disrobing, spinning it out and drawing extra nuance out of each gesture. Naked, he lay next to Kboexi and helped the Vixharth remove his own clothes.

"You're thin, Chekov," the Klingon sighed, stroking Chekov's jutting hip bones, "but so lovely." He nuzzled the Russian's neck and shoulder as he slid his hand down to fondle Chekov's cock.

The Russian arched against the caress and surrendered to his pleasure. 'Well, I might as well enjoy this,' he reasoned guiltily and twisted ever so slightly beneath Kboexi's hands and lips.

Pleased with his lover's enjoyment, the Vixharth rolled on top of his charge and kissed him deeply. He pressed his cock along side the Human's and reveled in the warmth of Chekov's belly. As pleasant as it might have been to climax like this, Kboexi had other plans. He drew the lubricant from the bed table and slid a slippery finger into the startled Human. "Are you sore?" he asked.

"No," Chekov admitted, "I justÖ wasn't ready."

Kboexi slowed and gentled his motions. "I'm rather impatient," he whispered, "please forgive me." He slipped in a third digit and moved them over the Human's prostate.

Feeling Chekov getting close, Kboexi sat up cross legged and drew the Human astride his lap and over his cock.

Chekov sank down enough to let the Vixharth's well lubed cockhead slip inside him. After a moment of adjusting, he let gravity take him and slid slowly down his lover's cock until he was fully impaled. He might have started to move except for Kboexi crushing him to his chest in a passionate kiss. Once released, Chekov began to move sinuously up and down the Klingon's shaft. He kept his pace gentle so he could enjoy the friction on his prostate longer. Kboexi seemed content to bury his face in Chekov's neck and moan incoherently. Very soon, however, Chekov found his undulations speeding up as he got closer to climax. The Klingon must have felt it too, as he reached between them and began to stroke Chekov's cock in the same rhythm. The Russian came first but just barely as his clenching sent the grateful Vixharth over the edge. This time Chekov could understand the words that were sighed into his ear as Kboexi gently lay him on his back and withdrew.

"You are everything."

***

"I thought you might enjoy a little time away from the city and you've never seen the homeworld shore," Kboexi observed one evening. "And it would just be the two of us, if you donít mind."

"No, of course not," Chekov said sincerely. He had been chafing under the lack of privacy they had in the house.

They had been lovers for several weeks and Chekov was still not used to the formal arrangement of it. He spent every evening with him that Kboexi chose to be home. They parted at bedtime and an hour or so later Kboexi joined him in bed and they made love. The Vixharth usually waited until Chekov was asleep before he stole away to his own bed.

Chekov could never pin down exactly why this made him uncomfortable. He'd grown used to the intimacy of waking with Kahrag and, although he did not miss the gunner, some part of him missed the intimacy of sleeping next to him the entire night. Somehow, he'd felt more legitimate in the domesticity of living in close contact with Kahrag than the elegant courtesan he'd become with Kboexi.

And then there was the household routine that made Chekov feel like a spoiled child and reinforced his decorative courtesan status. His schedule was simple: he rose before mid morning, bathed, dressed and met K'Hospoda in the study for his lessons, which ended in the early afternoon. Chekov then had something that resembled lunch but was really a waste of time and involved sitting in the dining room eating a muffin and fruit with tea. The afternoon belonged to him and he could spend it studying, which he seldom did because the lessons were not onerous and he was a quick study, or taking Mxy for a walk or some other outing. There was a car at his disposal and a page to babysit him on these excursions. He was encouraged to be home by dusk so he could bathe, rest and then dress elaborately for dinner with the Vixharth. After dinner, they talked, or played chess or a Klingon board game. They often went to the theater or opera, which they both enjoyed. Occasionally, they visited Princess Kmit or one of Kboexi's many friends. Chekov had found himself in the same room with the powerful Haats and Yhets, as well as the Crown Prince and Princess several times. He was admired and ignored, hence his decorative status. He could and did answer politely when called upon to do so, which was seldom.

Therefore, the idea of breaking out of the routine for a few days was very appealing to the lieutenant. He and Kboexi discussed their plans that evening and decorously chased each other upstairs later.

The shores of the homeworld's southern hemisphere were formed by the warm ocean's gentle erosion of the coastline. They were long, jagged white beaches, studded with intimate and secluded bays and lagoons. It was to a secluded lagoon, Kboexi guided Chekov, at the controls of an aircar and loving it, several days later.

"Oh, let me just look at it from the air once more," Chekov said, loath to give up control the little vehicle.

"As you wish, my dear. You may fly the coast from end to end tomorrow if you like," Kboexi promised. "However, just now I'd like to stretch my legs and unpack."

Chekov was agreeable and landed the little car in a nearby clearing. No servant greeted them; they carried their own bags. They would be alone for several days. The little house had been scrubbed and provisioned by experts, mainly Tzo, so it was full of their favorite foods (nutrient shots for Chekov), games, readers and other toys. Kboexi had vetoed bringing Mxy as the pippet was very demanding of Chekov's attention and the Vixharth hated to compete with anything, especially spoiled, winged primates, however adorable.

The house was very simple. It was a U-shaped building around a patio facing the sea. There were plenty of windows to let in the soft air and warm sunshine. Chekov dropped his bag in the bedroom and looked approvingly at the view, the rustic but comfortable furniture, especially the wide bed. He noted the tidy bathroom had plenty of hot and cold running water, which pleased Chekov. He kicked off his shoes and crossed the patio to the main room. It was furnished in the same rustic comfort and had high beamed ceilings. He wandered over the house, enjoying the warm, damp air on his skin and the feel of thick rugs and wood floors under his bare feet, and stopped in the kitchen to make tea.

"Does this please you, Chekov?" Kboexi asked, joining him.

"Yes, very much," Chekov assured him, carrying the tea onto the patio. They sat drinking it in amiable silence and later strolled along the strip of beach nearest the house. Chekov would subsequently learn that Kboexi had borrowed the house from the head of the Yhet clan, who liked his privacy. This Yhet owned a large swath of land around the house thereby ensuring its occupants would not be bothered by neighbors or passerbys.

Chekov might have enjoyed a swim but he'd read that there were predators in this sea that might find him edible so he decided not to chance it. He contented himself with walking in the surf and wiggling his toes in the sand.

The Vixharth relaxed enough to admire Chekov's feet and enjoy the sight of the Human at ease. They meandered along the strip of beach, chatting about nothings, until the light began to fail and they retired to the little house. They lit lamps, suffusing the place with a warm pink glow that was immensely flattering to Chekov. Kboexi was enchanted, at least.

They fumbled around in the kitchen fixing dinner. Neither of them had ever spent much time in Klingon kitchens. However, Chekov had watched Kahrag cook often enough and Kboexi seemed to understand the concept of cooking so they managed to get something on plates and take them to the table.

After dinner, Chekov washed up and tidied the kitchen. He found Kboexi on the couch with a reader and folded himself into the Vixharth's arms.

The Klingon rubbed his cheek against the sweet smelling brown hair and held him close.

"What are you reading?" Chekov asked.

"Some very strange new poetry. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes, please." Chekov found the poems strange indeed. They seemed to be about revving the engine of nature. "Is that a metaphor?" he asked at last.

"I think not," Kboexi sighed, "I believe there was some research a few years ago that had the scientists believing they have found the engine of nature. Now the poets have got a hold of this half baked idea and soon Klingons will believe the tree in their yard operates on the same principle as their aircar. Madness."

"Hmmm," Chekov agreed sleepily.

"Come, Chekov," Kboexi said, putting the reader aside and lifting the lieutenant in his arms. "Let's leave science and poetry and go to bed."

Chekov did not disagree and helped the Vixharth help him out of his clothes and into bed. He could not help but observe that Kboexi needed more practice undressing him. Kahrag had been a master at it. He mulled this over as he fell asleep on Kboexi's shoulder.

Tired himself, Kboexi undressed and drew the sleeping Human into his arms. His last thought was how nice it was that he wouldn't have to leave his lover that night. He fell asleep smiling.

The sunlight on his eyelids and Kboexi next to him woke Chekov the next morning. He stretched luxuriously against the Klingon, trying to wake him. It didn't work. Chekov slipped out of bed and into the kitchen to make some ahmrasine. He considered making Kboexi some tea and then realized he had no idea what the Klingon drank in the morning. He was puzzling over it when the Klingon in question came into the kitchen and put his arms around him.

"Is there enough ahmrasine for me, as well?" Kboexi asked, nuzzling Chekov's hair.

They carried their cups back to bed and planned their day. It was a simple day: they would walk on the beach, play chess, read and perhaps do a few other things.

Chekov was pleased when Kboexi reached for him. He'd forgotten how to make the first move and had wanted to make love since he's woken. He curled into the Klingon's arms and purred with contentment.

Kboexi caressed the Human's hardening cock against his own erection. He'd never realized how lovely Chekov was in the morning and intended to enjoy him to the fullest these few days. He drew the lieutenant into a long, slow kiss; stoking their arousal and desire for each other. The Vixharth broke away to hunt for the lubricant in the bedside table but quickly returned to prepare them both for intercourse.

Chekov squirmed against the two, then three, fingers stretching him. He thrashed as the Klingon caressed him from inside. He closed his eyes as Kboexi draped his ankles over his shoulders and rolled him forward. He arched with pleasure as Kboexi pressed the head of his cock past the lieutenant's slippery ring and paused for the Human to adjust.

"All right?" Kboexi asked, watched Chekov nod and slowly let his cock slide all the way in, pausing to rub the head against Chekov's prostate when he got there. Gently back and forth, until the navigator tilted his hips ever so slightly to encourage the Klingon to fuck him.

Kboexi leaned down and played a long, complex kiss over the navigator's warm lips. Pumping gently, Kboexi sighed into Chekov's ear. He drew back and lengthened his strokes. Mindful of his partner's pleasure, he reached between them and began to stroke Chekov in the same rhythm.

Unable to hold back, Chekov thrashed against his lover's thrusts and came.

Feeling the Human clenching around him, Kboexi thrust all the way in and let himself climax. He threw his head back with a cry and shuddered convulsively in ecstasy as his cock pulsed inside the Human. The Vixharth collapsed onto Chekov's heaving chest and lay panting on top of the Human.

Lying beneath his sated lover, Chekov rallied the energy to stroke the Klingon's back comfortingly.

Kboexi propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Chekov affectionately. "I must be heavy," he murmured, gently withdrawing from the Human's body. He rolled onto his back and pulled Chekov across this chest. "Shall we get up?" he inquired sleepily.

"In a minute," Chekov replied, dozing off.

***

"Are you enjoying yourself, Chekov?" Kboexi asked a few days later. They were strolling along a cliff above the beach.

"Very much," Chekov answered. "It's nice to be away fromÖ the routine of the house."

"Ah, yes," Kboexi mused, drawing Chekov onto a grassy knoll. He began to fumble with the navigatorís elaborate clothing and was relieved when Chekov lent a hand.

Chekov, unlacing his skirts, vowed never to let Tzo and Bjoz pack for him again. Had he known the heavy costumes they were going to pack for him, heíd have tossed in some trousers and t-shirts for comfort. Instead, he was dragging around forty kilos of draperies. Ruefully, he reflected on Kahragís taste in clothing that ran to boyish styles that were easy to remove. He shrugged out of the last of his clothing and surrendered his mouth to the Vixharth.

Kboexi ran his hands over the navigatorís warm flesh. Tracing the prominent bones of Chekovís ribs and hips and caressing his ass, the Vixharth held Chekov close with more passion than he liked to feel for a concubine. ëAh, but this one is not like the others,í he told himself for the thousandth time. ëNot at all like the others.í

Chekov lay back in the Vixharth's arms and looked at the tree fringed sky. He'd nearly forgotten how pleasant it was to make love outdoors. The Human arched a little as Kboexi swirled his tongue around the head of his penis and ran his hands though the rough Klingon hair. It was enjoyable; why fight it?

Kboexi sucked his lover close and stopped to remove his own clothing. There was no chance of them being disturbed so, opening the jar of lubricant he'd so thoughtfully brought along, Kboexi took his time preparing Chekov for intercourse. He gently kissed the Human as he rolled him forward and centered his cock. Drawing a steadying breath, the Klingon gently pressed the head in and paused to adjust. This moment with Chekov was always nearly overwhelming for Kboexi and he had to struggle not to plunge full length in to the fragile body beneath him. More than once had the Vixharth reminded himself that if Kahrag had this kind of self control, so did he. Ready and in control, the Klingon carefully pressed all the way in and began to fuck his lover in short pulses.

Chekov maneuvered the Klingon into better angle and thrust up gently to meet the strokes on his prostate. In a short time, he was thrashing against Kboexi's longer, harder thrusts and moaning against the mouth devouring him. They came in the same moment, Kboexi's face buried in Chekov's neck.

The Klingon held Chekov in a gentle embrace until he stopped shaking and his breathing was normal again. By that time, Kboexi himself had calmed down enough to gently withdraw and lie on the grass next to the Human. Sated, he stared up at the sky and listened to the wind in the trees. He pulled Chekov into his arms and caressed his soft skin, feeling the light breeze playing over their damp, pleasured bodies.

They dozed for a few moments until Kboexi became concerned that Chekov might be cold. Chekov admitted that he was a little chilly. They dressed and went back to the little house to fix dinner.

Chekov was sorry to go back to the city the next day. He had enjoyed the peace and freedom of his vacation with Kboexi and was sad to see it end. But all things end and he knew that as well as anyone.

***

"But there was someone before me, wasn't there?" Chekov asked one evening at the conclusion of their Cvrik game, several weeks after their return home. The time alone with the Vixharth had emboldened him to ask some questions lovers usually ask.

"Yes." The Vixharth paused, hoping Chekov would change the subject, and sighed when he realized Chekov would wait forever if necessary. "When I was younger, I made a conquest of the most sought after singer in the imperial opera: Katiraz. He was one of the greatest singers of his generation, far superior even to the renowned G'riaK'lls, whom you've heard.

"It was a struggle, something of a campaign, but I finally lured him away from his patron and the opera. We traveled, I became a patron of the arts, we made loveÖ and then I grew bored with him.

"Cruelly, I began to leave him in the country while I pursued court intrigues and other lovers. I refused to allow him to return to the opera. I ignored him, except to be jealous or possessive when it suited me." Kboexi winced at the memory of his self centered boorishness; it seemed like another life, someone else's life.

"Katiraz lasted about fifteen years with me and then he killed himself."

Chekov sat back stunned. "How?" he asked.

"He threw himself out of the highest tower on my estate." He watched Chekov's face become unreadable as he considered this dreadful fact. The Vixharth sank to his knees beside his lover. "That will never happen to us, Chekov, I swear it on my honor as a Klingon and my life," he vowed, kissing the navigator's palm. "I swear it. Katiraz's death changed me; you have changed me further. I pray you will believe me and trust me. IÖ did not want to tell you this story, but I want there to be no dishonesty between us."

Chekov nodded, calmly, "Yes, I wanted to know," he squeezed Kboexi's hand. "It is better that I know."

"I hope you will forget about it, my dear," Kboexi said with his usual composure. He rose and resumed his seat, "A few weeks in the county will do you a world of good," the Klingon commented, noting once again Chekov's pale thinness.

"Mxy will certainly enjoy it," Chekov commented, thinking 'And I can look at the tower your previous lover leapt from.'

"I think we will all enjoy it," Kboexi said, "You will excuse me tonight, Chekov, I'm fatigued and we make an early start tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night," Chekov, startled, said to the Vixharth's back as he left the room. He had a moment of guilt, wondering if he had upset the Vixharth. 'It is an upsetting subject,' he mused on his way to bed. It would be the first time he'd slept alone in weeks and he was rather looking forward to it. He played with Mxy for a while, handed his clothes and jewels to the pages and settled into bed with a reader and a glass of water. He was just dozing off when Kboexi joined him.

"I was abrupt," he said, drawing Chekov into his arms, "I did not mean to be." He kissed the Russian's white shoulder.

Chekov nodded and allowed himself be cuddled. He enjoyed the contact with Kboexi. He felt safe in it.

"And tomorrow we'll be in the country where you can relax awhile," Kboexi soothed him to sleep. "Until the Crown Prince arrives. He's taken something of a fancy to you, my dear," the Klingon murmured to the sleeping Human, recalling the Prince's interest in Chekov at Kmit's last dinner party. "How fortunate for all of us."

***

Chekov was not displeased to leave the somewhat suffocating confines of Kboexi's townhouse. Admittedly, he had more freedom with the Vixharth than with Kahrag but he was never alone in the Vixharth's house. At least with Kahrag, the Klingon had left most mornings and he could enjoy some peace and silence by himself. There was more of that in the rambling country house and he escaped to solitude as often as possible.

Mxy was enjoying himself to an obscene degree. The pippet was thoroughly delighted to retrieve balls thrown off high balconies and catapulted over the plains. He became an expert and showy dive bomber/retriever. He was usually happy to leave Chekov to his solitude if the pages would play with him but occasionally the pippet hunting genes kicked in and he would track his Human to wherever he was ensconced.

Mxy and Princess Kmit found Chekov, curled up with a reader in a corner of a disused wing, at nearly the same moment.

"Are you not enjoying your stay here, Chekov?" she asked with concern.

Mxy merely rolled over to have his belly scratched.

"Yes, very much, Princess," Chekov assured her, scratching his pet. "Why do you ask?"

"WellÖ good," she said. "I was wondering. You seem to be avoiding Kboexi a little."

"Not at night," the Russian said blandly.

"OH, WELL THEN ALL IS WELL THAT SHOULD BE WELL, EH?"

"Yes, very."

"GOOD! I THINK YOU'LL ENJOY THE CAMPING TRIP I HAVE PLANNED FOR TOMORROW."

"I'm looking forward to it, Kmit."

"SO AM I. WE'LL HAVE SOME HAATS, SOME YHETS AND THE OTHER *HAPPY COUPLE* WITH US."

Kmit boomed her farewell and left him to reflect on the fact that the other *happy couple* would one day be the Emperor and Empress of the Klingon Empire. The original happy couple, he surmised, were he and Kboexi.

Chekov stood up abruptly and gave himself a mental shake. He plotted a course from Orion to Andorian via Starbase 18 and then to Terra and back. The navigator did something like this every time he felt his identity slipping away. 'I am Lt. Pavel Andreivich Chekov, serial number 656-5827B, navigator for the starship Enterprise, NCÖ"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Chekov, but it's time for lunch," Bjoz said quietly, scooping Mxy out of his master's arms.

"Ah." Chekov looked at the pale late morning light, "I had not realized so much time had gone by," he said sadly and followed the page back to his rooms.

***

Princess Kmit's idea of camping was to send a dozen teams of servants ahead to set up luxurious camps for the riders. After a few hours of leisurely riding, Chekov found himself escorted into his own tent where Bjoz and the thin page shook out a change of clothes and poured scented water for him to bathe in.

'I feel like Catherine the Great camping in Crimea,' he mused as he rinsed the nonexistent dust off his body. 'Except she was never anyone's prisoner,' he hastily reminded himself. He had his tea alone; one of the Terranaphobe Yhets had objected to his presence. Therefore, he was exiled from tea, however, not from dinner, which was more formal and the Yhets could ignore him. Although it might have been difficult to ignore him as he was frequently seated in the Crown Prince's field of vision.

Chekov was contemplating the Prince's interest in him and what it might mean when Bjoz handed him a note from Kboexi. The note requested that he wear the gown that showed his shoulders so nicely. The navigator replied that he was tired and preferred to be excused from dinner. Four minutes later Kboexi was standing at the foot of his couch.

"Are you ill, Chekov?"

"Merely tired and would like to go to bed early."

Kboexi contemplated this information. "Would a nap refresh you?"

"I think not." Chekov folded his hands and lowered his eyes.

Kboexi knelt by the Human's chaise. "Chekov," he began seriously, "the Crown Prince enjoys looking at you and I'm sure you would not want to disappoint him. It would be a terrible blow to Kmit if the Prince was not enjoying his camping trip," he added with devastating mildness.

"And is looking all the Prince wants?" Chekov asked bluntly.

"At this time, my dear, yes."

"And if at a later time he wants to have sex with me?"

"I cannot speculate on something that has not occurred, Chekov," the Vixharth soothed. "However, should such good fortune befall you, you would be a little fool to refuse. It would be a terrible blow to Kmit if the Prince's wishes could not be fulfilled by this ancient house," he concluded with emphasis.

Chekov closed his eyes but quickly opened them as visions of the bestial Crown Prince flooded his inner viewscreen. He shuddered.

"Never worry, my dear," Kboexi soothed, "Kmit and the Princess will make sure he does not injure you when the time comes."

"What has the Princess to do with it?" Chekov could just imagine Kmit's machinations, but not the princess'.

"A wise and thoughtful wife always hand picks her husband's concubines for him. It is the only way to ensure domestic tranquillity." The Klingon patted his charge's hand. "In the meantime, you must show your best features to him. At dinner, this evening," he added firmly, rising.

"And you would just let him have me?" Chekov asked numbly.

"Of course. It would be a great honor for all of us."

"It is something Kahrag would never do." Chekov accused.

Kboexi thought about this for a moment and then leaned forward and gently, for him, slapped Chekov's face. "One: You cannot know what Kahrag would do in this situation and; Two: never compare me to Kahrag again," he said in the coldest voice Chekov had ever heard him use and left the Human to contemplate his function in the Vixharth's household.

Bjoz brought Chekov a cold rag to take the sting out of his cheek and glass of llarth to ease his inner pain. "I'm glad Mxy was outside when he hit you."

Chekov nodded; the Vixharth and the pippet were struggling with their relationship and didn't need any more fuel on the fire. He sighed, resigned, "Wake me in time to dress, Bjoz, I'll wearÖ"

"The gown that shows your shoulders," the page finished bitterly. "I know, I heard."

The Human dozed off comparing Kahrag to Kboexi and didn't like the contrasts he was finding there.

***

"I understand you are dismayed by the Prince's interest in you, Chekov," Kmit said, the day after the camping trip. They were standing on the terrace of the estate prior to returning to the capitol city.

"That is correct," Chekov answered.

The rest of the camping trip had been without incident. The Crown Prince seemed content merely to enjoy looking at Chekov and this pleased everyone, including Chekov.

"Why does this displease you?" she asked.

"I do not like being passed around."

"From Kahrag to Kboexi to the Imperial bedchamber," she snorted. "I would hardly call that passed around."

"I am not even being asked if I want to," Chekov said with some heat. "No one has asked me how I feel about it, much less for my permission."

"Do you ask your briga for permission to ride him?" Kmit asked seriously. "Sex with you will have no more meaning than that for the Prince. If you please him, he might grow fond of you but it will mean no more than your own fondness for a briga or even Mxy." She paused to watch Chekov shudder. "We care for you, Chekov, but if the Crown Prince wants you, we will make the most of it. Do not forget, my dear; this is the homeworld and we are Klingons."

"I thought Klingons had more honor than this," Chekov commented bitterly.

"Well, the warrior class might, but you're not among the warriors now," she sighed and glanced at the chrono, deciding whatever she was supposed to do could wait. "I don't know how much Klingon history K'Hospoda has given you to study but there are certain things you should know about the North's historical dominance of the West.

"Four thousand years ago, there were two thriving civilizations living in isolation from one another on the homeworld: the North and the West. Eventually they made contact and because the West was somewhat more culturally advanced, the North invaded it and subjugated it.

"We were a people of brilliant arts and sciences but rotten warriors so we didn't last very long," she commented sadly. "Anyway, even the idiot Northers knew wisdom when they saw it and began to exploit our arts and sciences. We Westers were enslaved but, being intelligent, we soon found ways to use it to our advantage.

"In time, the Northers were so technologically and administratively dependent on the West that they had no choice but to grant us a certain autonomy to ensure our goodwill.

"That autonomy did not include entrance into the military classes.

"Being an intelligent people and knowing that the universe does not run on love, we Westers chose other routes to power." She fixed him with a wry look. "Routes you and Kahrag would consider dishonorable." She rose to go, "The weak, like yourself, must find the strength in their weakness and exploit it for all it's worth. I do not completely approve of the plan to put you in the Prince's bed for the simple reason that you are too intelligent, rather shrewd and might be impossible to control. Kahrag also concerns me."

"Why?" Chekov asked, surprised.

"Hardly because I retain a sentimental attachment to warriors from my mother's blood," she said, "I've no time for sentiment. Kahrag worries me because he loves you and that makes him unpredictable, therefore dangerous. To all of us."

"I thought Kboexi loved me," Chekov said bitterly.

"He does love you," she informed him. "But like all sensible Westers, he loves power more."

***

The evening of his return to the city, Chekov was surprised to see Kboexi enter his bedroom. The navigator had dined alone, Kboexi being engaged elsewhere, and had not expected to see the Vixharth in his bedroom ever again. The Klingon had avoided him and his bed since they went to the country, Chekov assumed he was *saving* him for the Crown Prince.

"Are you still angry with me, Chekov?"

"Yes."

"Why ever?"

"Because you're going to pimp me to the Prince." Chekov watched the Klingon compress his lips in irritation. "Are you going to slap me again for annoying you?" he challenged, not caring anymore. He'd nearly come to the conclusion that suicide was the only answer. However, not until he'd done some damage to Kboexi and Kmit with the Prince, if that were possible.

"Oh, no," Kboexi said quietly. He reached out and brushed Chekov's hair out of his eyes. "I rather regret slapping you. I'm afraid I'm rather jealous of Kahrag and reacted without thinking. I hope you will forgive me," he looked deeply into the Human's eyes.

"Are you saying all this so you can have sex with me?" Chekov asked bluntly. Kboexi nodded wryly. "Why bother? You don't need my permission, you know."

"Yes, I know," the Klingon agreed, "but it's more pleasant with your consent." He gently pulled the reader out of Chekov's grasp and set it by the bed. He tugged the Human's robe open and began to kiss his neck and shoulders. He felt Chekov freezing up under his touch and leaned back. "Are you still upset about the Crown Prince?"

"Yes."

"Well, just for your information, nothing is settled and nothing is likely to be settled until we get back from the hunt on Oxian next month," Kboexi informed him. "Does that ease your mind at all?"

"No."

"I have tried, at least," Kboexi drew Chekov back into his arms and kissed his resisting mouth until the Human yielded to him. "You are charming, whether you are willing or not," he observed, stripping off his robe and sliding in beside the navigator. He quickly pulled off Chekov's night clothes and ran his hands over the soft warm flesh. "If I were more of a romantic," Kboexi murmured into his ear, "I would keep you forever."

Chekov had no answer for this and simply lay passively in the Klingon's arms. Aroused in spite of his best intentions, he tried to ignore the reaction Kboexi's hands coaxed from his flesh. 'What a whore I've become,' he thought sadly as the Klingon swirled his tongue around the head of his arching penis.

As always enjoying the taste and texture of his concubine, Kboexi lingered over this most delectable flesh. He also wanted to make Chekov realize how well he was treated here. The Klingon sucked on one of his fingers and slowly eased it into the Human beneath him. He felt Chekov tense in resistance and then relax in surrender. 'Yes, good. Very, very good,' he thought, pleased.

Chekov arched against the Vixharth's fingers and into his mouth. He would have simply liked to be fucked and get it over with but Kboexi seemed to have other plans. The Human was helpless against the long, slow tease that brought him to the very brink of climax and then back three times before allowing him to cum. And cum hard, he lay panting as the Klingon lubed up and rolled him forward.

"Are you ready?" Kboexi whispered in his ear as he centered his cock.

Chekov hesitated and then sighed, "Yes."

The Klingon made no reply except to gently press the head of his cock past the Chekov's tight ring and pause to allow them to adjust. It had been awhile since they last made love and Kboexi didn't want to hurt or frighten the lieutenant. So he very, very slowly sank into the passive Human beneath him and nuzzled the soft white throat when he hit bottom. He rested a moment before he began to leisurely fuck him.

At first Chekov tried to ignore the Klingon making love to him but after the third or fourth stoke on his prostate, he began thrust up to meet Kboexi's thrusts.

Encouraged, Kboexi moved them into a faster, harder rhythm and reached between them to stroke the Human's penis. Chekov's clenching sent the Klingon over the edge into a blissful, happy climax. He lay on top of the navigator; delighted to be there and planning to enjoy this Human for as long as he could. He rolled over and dozed off, pulling Chekov across his chest for warmth.

Chekov lay awake and stared into the middle distance, trying to imagine his future. He could not, he could only live from moment to moment until the next decision was made for him. So as not to feel too much like a thing, he plotted a course from the Homeworld, to Oxian and then to Vulcan. Kboexi had given him access to star charts of the empire as a reward for particularly pleasant evening. He drifted to sleep over his calculations.

***

"The homeworld," Kirk stated, looking away from his first officer. "Over a year on the homeworld. How can he still be alive?"

"My source tells me he is protected and cared for in the Vixharth Kboexi's household," Spock said blandly, omitting Ashon's more colorful designation: 'Kboexi's precious, cherished, spoiled little darling.'

Ashon was one of the best bounty hunters in the quadrant. One of the most expensive too, nobody hired him for his tact. They hired him for results. It had taken over a year but finally, through a dealer in rare foods, the kind of food Humans can eat, Ashon had found the slender thread that lead to Chekov.

"I've heard of Kboexi," Kirk said wryly, "he's quite powerful."

'Your kid made it right to the top of the food chain, Vulcan,' Ashon had laughed, 'no wonder you want him back so bad.' Spock had not bothered to deny it; he did want Chekov back and badly.

"I would like to take a leave of absence, Captain," Spock said quietly.

"Denied," Kirk said flatly, "you can't get him off the homeworld. There are other solutions," he said, trying to think of one.

"I understand the Vixharth and Chekov will be on Oxian in a few weeks," Spock said calmly. "I would endeavor to remove him from there."

"Alone?"

"No. I have secured expert assistance."

Kirk mulled this over, "Why are they going to Oxian?" he asked suddenly.

"To hunt Nbian tigers. It is apparently a large expedition organized by Kboexi's sister, Princess Kmit, to amuse the Crown Prince."

Kirk was silent for a moment and then looked up: "If you can't get him on Oxian, come back and wait for the next chance." He rose and nodded, "Good hunting, Mr. Spock."

A few weeks later, Spock left the ship at the next port and rendezvoused with Ashon. They set off in Ashon's small, but fast and lethal ship, for Oxian disguised as Xochian traders.

***

"I thought you would want to know," Captain Korzra concluded and watched the Vixharth's impassive face remain impassive.

"Commander KahragÖ" Kboeix began.

"Captain Kahrag, now," Korzra corrected.

"Captain Kahrag nearly single-handedly subdued a planetÖ"

"Xntir 11."

"Ö and his only wish for his incredible act was to have his concubine brought to him?" the Vixharth restated for his own clarity. He was in shock at his ridiculous request. Kahrag could have had the moon and stars from Command and all he asks is for Chekov.

"He also renamed the main city K'Chkvan," Korzra put in the lengthening silence, "after Chekov," he added needlessly.

"How gallant," the Vixharth observed acidly. "You do realize the Crown Prince has expressed some interest in this Human?" Kboexi asked a moment later.

"Kahrag's commander is a Yhet; his fleet admiral is a Haat," Korzra said "They have both offered Kahrag any prize he would name and both were told that he simply wanted his concubine with him. I doubt even the Emperor would cross both the Haats and the Yhets over a bedwarmer, your grace, how ever charming."

"Will it be safe?" Kboexi asked, grasping at straws. "I'd not like to send Chekov into a war zone."

"Nor would Kahrag, I suppose," Korzra mused. "Kahrag has been assigned to the Klingon Governor's staff on Xntir 11. The Terran will be as safe as long as the garrison holds the planet."

Kboexi bowed to fate. "What is the plan, Korzra? Will you take him to Kahrag?"

"I've arranged for Kahrag to take him from Oxian after the tiger hunt." Korzra was invited and looking forward to it. "No sense for the Human to miss something so enjoyable before he returns to the Captain."

"No, no reason at all," Kboexi murmured, wondering how much mileage he could get out of Chekov before he lost him.

Princess Kmit's only comment on this turn of events was simply a loud and heartfelt curse.

No one felt it necessary to inform Chekov until just before he was returned to Captain Kahrag.

***

"This must be some kid for you to go after him like this, Vulcan," Ashon observed from the pilot seat of his ship.

Spock merely regarded the stars in the viewscreen and said nothing.

"Unusual in a Vulcan," Ashon continued, "this kind of risk taking." He paused to give Spock a chance to jump into the conversation. "AlmostÖ illogical."

Spock made a very minor course alteration that would shave eleven point six five minutes off their arrival on Oxian and said nothing.

''Almost like you're in love with him," Ashon challenged and was ignored. "That would not only be illogical in a Vulcan but very, very rare."

Spock once again brought up the bootlegged schematic they'd obtained of the Oxian city the hunting party would make its base.

"Rare," Ashon mused, impressed, "and precious. Probably priceless. Definitely not something you see everyday downtown." Having nothing more to say, he let the silence spin out between them. He was growing used to this taciturn Vulcan and turned his thoughts to how they were going to grab his kid.

"Lieutenant Chekov is a fine officer and an asset to Starfleet," Spock murmured at last.

"But that's not why you're doing this, is it?"

'Not entirely," Spock said, wishing he'd kept silent. "My reasons are too complex to go into here."

"You didn't know you loved him until he was gone, right?"

Spock could have presented a dozen more logical reasons but it was hardly worth the effort so he simply nodded and turned his attention back to the stars.

Ashon hadn't done anything that wasn't for money in longer than he could remember. Still, he knew the difference between what things cost and what they were worth. He therefore decided that getting this Vulcan his kid back was worth more than anything to him. So, that's what he would do, or die trying to do it.

***

Chekov thought his jewel box felt a little light and questioned Bjoz about it.

"Tzo said you wouldn't be needing all your jewelry for this trip so he put most of it away for safe keeping," the page shrugged. "At least that's what he said."

"Do you think he's lying?" Chekov asked as a joke.

"Yes," Bjoz said seriously, "but I don't know why."

Chekov thought about this and realized Kboexi had been acting a little strange, too. He had not seen Princess Kmit in weeks and, now that he was thinking about it, found that odd as well. "Huh," he shrugged and continued packing for Oxian.

***

"Why is there so much Klingon military here, Ashon?" Spock asked. They were surveying the hunter's compound from a nearby hillside.

"No idea," the hunter grunted. "That him?" He gestured toward Chekov walking across a patio to his room. Several moments later, the navigator opened the doors on a balcony facing them and stepped out, carrying Mxy. "That's really odd," Ashon murmured.

"What is?" Spock asked.

"They have him in an outside room. If he's that precious, they'd have him near Kboexi or at least in a room that won't be an oven from midday to moonrise." He glanced at the Vulcan, who was frankly enjoying the heat. "Oh well, never mind, it'll just make him easier to grab tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes; why wait?"

"Yes, tonight will be fine."

***

Something familiar about the weight of footsteps outside his door made Chekov turn before it opened. "Kahrag?" he asked disbelievingly as the owner of that heavy pair of boots entered. Poor Mxy went rigid with surprise.

The Klingon looked about as if expecting something. "Didn't they tell you I was coming for you?"

"Coming for me?" the lieutenant repeated blankly.

"As a reward for certain outstanding services I have rendered for the Empire, you have been allotted to me once more," Kahrag said as if this was an obvious course of events Chekov should have been anticipating. "You will accompany me during my tour of duty."

The navigator looked down at all the trappings of Kboexi's favor that seemed to chain him to this place. "Now?" he asked.

"Immediately," Kahrag confirmed, tossing him a bundle. "Dress decently. Collect your parasite and let's go."

Chekov caught the bag and looked at it disbelievingly. "Does Kboexi know you're here?"

Kahrag chuckled as he stepped forward to unfasten the jeweled band around the navigator's neck. "Of course. Do you find it so hard to believe your new lover would let you go?"

"I suppose not." The lieutenant removed the matching bracelets as Mxy scurried under the bed. "He seemed perfectly willing to give me to the Crown Prince when the opportunity arose."

"You see now that he is as I have often described him," Kahrag said, taking his captive by the wrist to remove his rings. "He has no soul."

Chekov pulled his hand out of the Klingon's grasp and removed the rings himself. "On Earth, it's considered rude to say, 'I told you so.'"

"Why?" the gunner asked, shaking one of his charge's old brown and teal outfits.

The lieutenant removed his embroidered slippers. "It's inconsiderate of other people's feelings."

Kahrag tossed him a pair of brown boots to replace them. "I see now why you Earthers are such reluctant warriors. You deny yourself too many of the pleasures of victory."

Chekov frowned, holding boots in one hand and slippers in the other. "I don't understand. How did this come about?"

"Kboexi is an excellent tutor," the Klingon explained. "At his prompting, I have learned ambition and a desire to wield influence."

"Influence with whom?"

"My superiors. After helping them win an important battle, I decided to take the moment to ask for something more than the soldier's usual meager rewards."

Chekov sighed. "Me."

"You will accompany to my new assignment," Kahrag confirmed. "I have been given a large house. It has a small stable connected to it. There will be much for you to do."

The lieutenant put the embroidered slippers aside. He could already tell he wasn't going to need them where he was going.

Kahrag reached down to stroke his cheek. "My rules have not changed," he said sternly, taking his captive by the chin. "You must obey me..."

"...In all things," Chekov finished sourly. "Yes. I remember your rules."

There was a rap at the door. Tzo entered. "My pardons, but I have just received a call from the master. He requests a slight change in plans."

"No," Kahrag replied briefly.

"He would like the young Human's departure delayed until after dinner."

"No," the gunner repeated, shoving the teal tunic into the lieutenant's hands.

Tzo stood his ground. "My orders are not to permit you to leave with him until then."

Kahrag straightened to his full height. With this slight effort, he towered alarmingly over the valet. "How unfortunate for you," the gunner said with deceptive mildness.

"Please." Chekov rose and stepped between them to forestall any violence. "There's no need for this. Kboexi just wants to say goodbye. He allowed you as much before."

Kahrag narrowed his eyes at this annoying truth.

"Perhaps the situation could be resolved if you came downstairs with me to the communications room and spoke to the master directly," Tzo suggested.

The gunner relented with a sigh. "Wait for me," he ordered his captive.

Chekov rolled his eyes. "Where am I going to go?"

Tzo and Kahrag exited, leaving him alone. Mxy scolded them from the safety of his basket. Chekov crossed back to the bed and reached for the embroidered slippers betting that Kboexi would have his way. He felt curiously numb as he pulled them on. It was something of a relief to be leaving. At least with Kahrag, he knew exactly what he was in for. No ambiguity.

Chekov blew out a long breath. He would like to talk to Kboexi one last time. He wanted an explanation -- not so much of this, but of... everything. What had happened to their relationship? Was the Vixharth truly unable to love? He hadn't thought so, but...

A rustling below his balcony caught his attention. Signaling Mxy to stay put, the lieutenant walked over to the railing. Looking down, he was surprised to see someone he knew and someone he didn't clinging to the sides.

"What are you doing?" Chekov asked, feeling like he'd been plunged into a dream.

"Rescuing you," Spock replied, swinging up onto the patio with Ashon following close behind.

Mxy hissed at the strangers. Chekov quickly crossed to quiet him.

"Time is of the essence, Lieutenant," the Vulcan reminded him.

"Where's your jewel box, baby?"

Chekov looked at a humanoid riffling through his things and then at Spock, who nodded reassuringly. "In your hand," he said.

"Not much here."

"No." Chekov caught a glimpse of purple stalking the stranger. "Mxy, go to your basket," he ordered in Klingonese. Reluctantly, he was obeyed.

"That your pippet?" Ashon asked. "It'd fetch some cash," he said at Chekov's nod.

Chekov walked to Mxy's basket and scratched the pippet's ears. "I think he must stay here," he said softly. "These are his people."

"Whatever, baby, whatever. Okay, let's get you two gone and I'll follow right away. Grab what you need." He saw Chekov shrug and move next to Spock and watched Spock press the hand held controls to transport them to Ashon's ship, which only had two transporter pads. He looked around for something else to take and decided there was nothing there for him. He took one last glance at the pippet and hit the controls back to his ship.

~

Spock and Chekov arrived at Ashon's ship and Spock began the preparations for departure.

Chekov had a moment of awkwardness, feeling as if he should explain why he was dressed as he was, when Ashon materialized and whirled into the cockpit like a hurricane. The Russian simply sat and waited for things to settle down. Looking over Ashon's shoulder, he suggested a course change that could cut an hour or so off the long journey to Axlazar, near the border of Federation space.

Ashon looked up, impressed. "You're right, honey, but how do you know?"

"I've seen the star maps," Chekov said icily, "and my name is Chekov, Lieutenant Chekov."

"Yes, sir!" Ashon mocked and might have said more except for the warning look from Spock.

Chekov looked hard at the hunter. "Spock hired you to find me," he stated flatly.

"Yes, absolutely correct," Ashon leaned back in his seat to enjoy the show.

But nothing happened. Chekov took a seat in the back of the craft and Spock stared at the stars. They were silent, eventually Ashon and Chekov dozed off but Spock continued his vigil.

***

"Did you bring me a uniform to wear?" Chekov whispered to Spock some time later.

"No. Perhaps Ashon.."

"No, don't wake him, please. I am enjoying the quiet." Chekov fidgeted. "How did you find me, Spock?"

The Vulcan nodded at the sleeping bounty hunter.

"Then I am grateful to him and to you."

"I am also grateful to him, Chekov." Spock looked into the navigator's dark, troubled eyes. The Russian's eyes seemed huge in his emaciated face. "What was going on in your bedroom, Chekov, who was that Klingon?"

Chekov stared down at his tattooed hands and told Spock the whole story. It took a long time because he had to stop several times to fight back his tears. "I don't know how I can go back to Starfleet after what I've done. I am so ashamed, Spock, I..."

"At least you're alive to be ashamed." Ashon's voice was like steel and Chekov jumped slightly. "Hundreds of thousands of Terran's would rather be in your shoes than where they are, which is dead from life in Klingon prisons."

The Russian merely glared at him.

"This is not entirely incorrect, Mr. Chekov." Spock said blandly. "However, I would prefer to postpone this discussion until we are on Axlazar."

Chekov nodded at Spock, glared at Ashon and went to sit in the back.

Spock turned his contemplation back to the stars and Ashon, for want of a better pastime, put on a computer game. Eventually, he coaxed Chekov to come up and play the other station with him and was soundly trounced. This improved Chekov's mood somewhat.

***

"I want my jewels, Ashon." Chekov said as they were landing on Axlazar. Spock had already transported to the surface and they were alone.

"What jewels?" Ashon asked innocently.

"The ones you took from my room; don't be an ass." Chekov snapped.

Ashon hesitated, "You know I'm not making very much on this deal..."

"You must be making something or you wouldn't have taken it, would you?" Chekov had learned quite a bit about the hunter on the trip, most of it positive but he knew Ashon had a very strong practical streak.

"Well..."

"I want to sell them so I can pay Spock back."

"He won't take it."

"I don't care; I'll make him take it." Chekov said firmly. "Come now, give them to me. Please."

Ashon handed the box over, wishing he'd taken the pippet when he had the chance. "He's in love with you."

Chekov looked up startled. "Who is?"

"Spock."

"Don't be silly, Ashon."

"Don't be blind, Chekov. Why else would he have done all this?"

***

Spock found them rooms at a modest hostel near the dry dock. They were three bedrooms with views of the street or the back garden. They would only be there for as long as it took Ashon to refit his ship and for Spock and Chekov to arrange transport to a starbase.

Chekov was surprised that Spock had not already made arrangements for their transport to a starbase by the time he arrived at the hostel. He was glad Ashon had escorted him from the dock to the hostel; he'd gotten a few whistles and lewd suggestions in that short distance. 'I must look like what I am,' he thought sadly.

"Well, if you don't go back to Starfleet you could turn pro," Ashon observed cheerfully. "You certainly woulda had takers with any of those guys back there."

"Pro what?" the lieutenant snarled.

"Pro courtesan, of course," Ashon blandly informed him. "I wasn't asleep during your story to Spock, you know."

Chekov stopped in the street and turned to face him. Killing Ashon flitted across his mind but he dismissed it as residue to being with the Klingons too long. He sighed and shrugged and continued on his way.

"Sorry. It was kinda a compliment," Ashon murmured beside him. "I mean, I'd pay for you."

Chekov blew out a patient breath and kicked at his skirts. "If you want to pay for something, buy me some less conspicuous clothes or help me sell some jewelry so I can buy them."

"Weeeeell, let's see," Ashon mused, "I usta know a fence over on Onta street..."

"I own these things!"

"That's' fine, he'll fence 'em whether you own 'em or stole 'em or found 'em laying in the street. He's gotta very open mind, this guy does." Ashon cheerfully assured him as he led him into some dubious streets.

Chekov was beginning to have deja vu when the hunter turned into a doorway and pushed past a beaded curtain. They were greeted by a young girl, who disappeared to announce them and returned to lead them in to a dimly lit but opulently furnished parlor. Ashon was enthusiastically greeted by a huge slug of a humanoid male, seated behind a gigantic desk. "I'll give you one tenth Vrissti tonne for him and no questions asked!" he shouted in Standard, pointing at Chekov.

Chekov's eyes grew huge and his jaw dropped but Ashon merely seemed amused. "Not for sale, friend, he's got something to sell, though."

"I'd never rent it," the slug informed him.

"Let's GO," Chekov sighed at Ashon.

"Patience, Lieutenant, patience. Lemme see your stash," Ashon asked pleasantly. "You just want some manly clothes and walking around money, right?" he asked, pawing through Chekov's meager collection of jewelry. He chose a brooch of moonstones and a dark red stone Chekov had never learned the name of. Ashon handed it to the girl, who conveyed it to the slug for his inspection. The buyer and seller slipped into a language Chekov could not understand to engage in some spirited haggling. "Is fifteen hundred Federation credits in local currency okay?" Ashon asked a few moments later.

Chekov was surprised but kept his head. "Can't I have it in credits? I can't spend that much here."

Ashon frowned and went back to the deal. "You can have a thousand in credits."

"And five hundred in local currency?"

"BY GOD YOU DRIVE A HELLISH BARGAIN FOR A LITTLE THING, DON'T YOU?" the slug cried impressed. "HOW MUCH WOULD IT BE TO RENT YOU FOR THE EVENING?"

"More than you will ever have in your life, fat thing," Chekov snapped. "I want the fifteen hundred in Federation credits, real ones, or you can stay here and beÖ be fat."

The slug chuckled and said something to the girl, who quickly returned with the credits. Ashon looked them over and said they looked real to him.

Chekov didn't know why he should believe anything he heard in that room but he believed that. The Russian felt further compelled to accept a small glass of wine from the slug to seal the deal. Ashon had one too so Chekov felt it was safe.

"Where have you come from that you are so beautiful and have such lovely jewels?" the slug asked politely.

Chekov looked to Ashon for assistance.

"Not a good subject, friend," Ashon said mildly.

"Really?" the slug laughed, "I hear the Klingons are looking for a runaway humanoid concubine. Big, big bounty on him as well." The slug said something to the girl, who left the room and returned with a small tube. "Here," he tossed the tube into Ashon's lap, "have him put that on his hands, it'll cover the marks until they can be removed. Now get out. I never saw you here."

***

Chekov had stopped shaking by the time they reached the hostel. He was also wearing new gray trousers, a dark blue sweater and black loafers. The sales-thing had been more than happy to take Chekov's elegant clothes in part payment for the new garments.

"You two can't stay here," Ashon informed them the moment they were all in the same room. "Every hunter in the quadrant will be after him and we've left enough of a trail here. I'm leaving, now, for Tiraa, you can work out your transport from there."

Spock exchanged looks with Chekov, who nodded, and began to gather up their things.

They were offworld less than an hour later.

***

They had almost made it to Tiraa when an unmarked ship pulled them into its shuttle bay. There was no doubt about where they were when the Klingons surrounded Ashon's little ship and demanded they surrender. Kahrag stood flanked by Korzra and Krossoro.

"Your friend from Oxian again," the hunter told Chekov, who was white as a sheet. "This ship has auto destruct, we could all die now quickly as opposed to some horrible Klingon way later."

"Can I hail them?" Chekov asked flatly.

"Sure; here," Ashon flipped a switch for him.

"Kahrag," he said in Klingonese, "I would like to speak to you.... alone."

"Nothing would please me better, my prize," the gunner replied. "After you surrender, we shall speak at length about your behavior... in my quarters."

The lieutenant tried to have no visible reaction, but knew Ashon could probably see the blush starting in his cheek. He cleared his throat. "I want everyone to leave the shuttle bay, except for you. You have fifteen seconds, or I will activate this ship's self-destruct."

Kahrag shook his head and sighed, then motioned his companions away. Krossoro lingered after Korzra and his men headed away.

"He may try to kill you," the interrogator warned.

"He hasn't succeeded thus far," the gunner assured him, sending him on his way with a pat on his back. Karhag watched the hatch open and his captive step out.

"I told you to wait for me, my prize," the gunner said, ignoring the phaser in the lieutenant's hand.

Chekov halted several feet away from him, fingering his weapon nervously.

Kahrag crossed his arms. "I suppose you want to barter for the fate of your would-be rescuers."

"What I want," the navigator corrected, "is for you to let me go."

The Klingon smiled and shook his head. "And since you know I won't...?"

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes. "You don't intend to free my friends either."

Kahrag shrugged. "That would do little to deter subsequent attempts of this nature."

"What will you do to them?"

"They won't be harmed."

"You'll take them as hostages," Chekov deduced, outraged.

"That would please Korzra," the gunner replied.

The lieutenant's grip on his weapon firmed. "It doesn't please me."

Kahrag shook his head. "Come, I tire of this foolishness."

"It's not foolishness," Chekov said evenly. "We can self-destruct. It would take your ship with us."

"You may hate me enough to do so, but I doubt you want to destroy your friends."

Since this was true, Chekov found himself stalemated. He looked at the phaser in his hand for inspiration. "What if," he began, slowly swinging it around to point at his own head, "I destroy myself?"

Kahrag didn't flinch. "Your weapon was deactivated as soon as you left your ship."

Chekov reckoned that there was a fifty-fifty chance this was true. The fact that Kahrag made no sudden move toward him encouraged him to believe the gunner might be bluffing. "If I don't do it now," the lieutenant promised, "I will find a time later. If you insist on keeping me like the moon sprite in the story, one day you'll find only an empty box."

The mention of the old Klingon legend seem to give Kahrag pause.

"And your problems with Kboexi will not stop here," Chekov continued when the gunner fell silent. "He'll retaliate. He won't be content until he destroys you and has me to do with as he pleases."

Kahrag shook his head. "I don't fear Kboexi."

"Do you fear killing me?" Chekov asked. "That is what you're doing. Gram by gram. Humans can't live on nutrient shots forever. I'm already thinner than is healthy for me. What if I get a Klingonese disease? Can your interrogator friend be relied on to cure me? I could die of a cold. You claim to be devoted to me, but you're cutting my projected life span in half at the very least."

A twitch of the Klingon's lips betrayed the impact this had on him. "You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," he said lightly.

Chekov clung onto that thin thread of hope. "Please..."

"If I were even to consider releasing you...." Kahrag began slowly. "It's not so simple. What am I to tell the High Command? What am I to tell Korzra?"

"If you don't release me, I'll blow up both these ships. Isn't that sufficient?"

Kahrag thought about it.

"Please..." Chekov begged, his voice breaking on the word.

After a long moment, Kahrag blew out a breath slowly. "You must make me a promise."

The lieutenant's heart leaped into his throat. "What?"

"Relationships between our two races may not continue as they are now. If our governments make peace, you must promise to seek me out and meet with me."

"Why?"

The gunner walked towards the Human. Chekov raised his phaser, but Kahrag gently pushed it aside. "If we meet as equals -- not as enemies, I am curious to see if your feelings for me will change," the Klingon said, lifting his chin. "If you'll be honest enough to admit what I know you feel."

Chekov found he couldn't answer or meet the gunner's eyes.

"Do you promise?"

The word came out choked. "Yes."

Kahrag stroked his cheek. "And if I die before such a time, you must promise to mourn me."

The lieutenant nodded.

The gunner put his hands on his captive's shoulders. "I wish you to promise these things on your honor as a Federation officer."

Chekov straightened. "On my honor as a Starfleet officer," he agreed, feeling restored.

"Then I am content," he murmured, pulling Chekov to him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the Human's.

Realizing that this really was the last time Kahrag would ever kiss him, Chekov put his arms around the Klingon's neck and kissed him back.

They stood embraced for a long time but finally Kahrag broke away. "You are everything," he whispered softly in Klingonese.

"Let me go," Chekov requested neutrally.

Sighing, Kahrag released him. The Klingon him looked at him as if memorizing every line of his face and body then turned and walked rapidly out of the shuttle bay.

Chekov stood watching him for a moment. He carefully wiped an errant tear from his cheek before turning back to his own ship.

As soon as the bay doors opened Ashon's ship took off for Tiraa posthaste.

Chekov never saw any of the Klingons he'd known on the Homeworld again and that was fine with him.


	4. Epilogue

In a fit of generosity or to spite his heirs, old Kalosh left his most valuable asset, Geshas, to Captain Kahrag.

Geshas made Kahrag and Mxy very happy and they all grew old in harmony.

Kboexi was torn apart on an Axkt hunt several years later in the very strand of trees he and the Klingons had chased Chekov through.

Princess Kmit grew weary of palace intrigue after she'd installed the Crown Prince and Princess as Emperor and Empress. She retired to the county estate to mourn her brother and watch the Empire lumber toward happier relations with the Federation. She felt this was good, if most of the Terrans were as fine as Chekov, if must be good.

Korzra died when his Bird of Prey blew up around him on a mission. No survivors or bodies were found.

Krossoro died of a fever he caught when one of his subjects bit him and drew blood. He died in agony, but even he thought that was somehow appropriate.

Ashon collected his fee and wished Spock and Chekov peace and long life. He disappeared into one of the Autonomous Zones and was never heard of again.

Spock and Chekov returned to the Enterprise where they were welcomed with open arms. Because they loved each other very much, for many years and in many different assignments, they were able to maintain a happy relationship. Eventually, however, Chekov had to choose between the Vulcan and Starfleet and he choose Starfleet. Spock seemed to understand and they parted friends: Chekov to his ship and Spock to Gol. When they met again years later, there was warmth between them but no longer passion and this was fine with them.

Kahrag grieved for Chekov for many, many years but even a Klingon can only suffer so long. He finally gave up and let Geshas make him happy, which was very, very happy, for the rest of his long Klingon life.

The End


End file.
